


The Dark End of the Street

by Tchosan



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 1920's AU, DARE Series, F/M, Gorillaz OC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23166805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tchosan/pseuds/Tchosan
Summary: Working as a singer for the Black Cat Club downtown doesn't make good money, and it doesn't put you in with good company. Angel's not one for trusting strangers, but when a rude, boorish man blows through the club, she finds her usually suspicious nature fails her.(1920's Gorillaz AU)
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals/Original Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

_“You’ll be back, hon. You’re nothing without me.”_

Those words rattled around in her head every day. Angel stared at her shoes, her cigarette ashing out onto the floor. Every day it made her angry. And every day she wondered if he was right.

The Black Cat wasn’t the busiest club in town. It wasn’t the flashiest, or the dirtiest, or the cheapest, or the most lavish. Moderately busy, moderately slow. But it flew under the radar of most unpaid cops and troublemakers alike. And it was where Angel performed almost every night.

Smoke curled out of the side of Angel’s mouth as she leaned up against the wall backstage, waiting on the step for her cue.

“Angela?”

She perked her head up, gathering herself. The piano player, Francis, was nodding to the stage.

“Alright,” she hummed, grinding out her cigarette on the bottom of her shoe.

She fussed with her hair, running her hands down over the front of her dress to smooth it out. She always got anxious before going out there, no matter how many times she did it.

The trill of the trumpets called her out, stepping into the light as all the eyes in the joint fell onto her. Her eyes trained on a spot in the back, where no one looked directly at her. She couldn’t take meeting anyone’s eyes onstage anymore. It made her nervous and paranoid, searching one face to the next hoping, praying, that he wasn’t among them. It was too much to bear. She kept her eyes forward.

_Oh, my man I love him so_

_He'll never know_

_All my life is just despair_

_But I don't care_

_When he takes me in his arms_

_The world is bright, all right_

_What's the difference if I say I'll go away_

_When I know I'll come back on my knees someday?_

_For whatever my man is_

_I am his forever more_

A sparse ripple of claps echoed through the club, and she gave a short bow, stepping backwards until she disappeared behind the curtain. The way from backstage to the floor was narrow and dark, and made her feel closed in and trapped every time she had to walk it, hurrying to the door behind the bar.

“Angela,” the bartender nodded at her, pouring her a tiny glass of gin. “Pleasant as always.”

She took her seat at the end, perching her kitten heels up on the rail above the floor.

“Thanks, Frisk.”

The club settled into a quiet hum of conversation, the regulars and the few visitors talking politics and the like around the gilded tables. It was never overly busy, and she liked it that way. It made it harder to take her by surprise.

She felt someone sit down beside her, and she cradled her empty drink, not looking. She didn’t want to look. Her heart pounded.

"That was a riveting performance, love."

It was an unfamiliar voice. A long sigh left her. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. A British bloke was leaning on the bar, his jet black hair cut across his forehead. Angel tried not to stare, but she couldn’t help it; his left eye was redder than blood and pierced into her. She forced herself to look away.

"Thank you."

He nodded to the bartender, calling him over.

“Another for the lady and one for me.”

Frisk glanced at her and she gave a small nod. Her cigarette leaked a stream of smoke from between her fingers as she slid the glass towards herself. He held out his hand to her, his lips split in a wide grin with sharp-looking teeth.

“Name’s Murdoc Niccals.”

She hesitated, taking his hand. His skin was ice cold.

“Angela,” she said simply.

“Nice to meet you, Angela. Can’t say I’ve heard an alto like that in some time. I’m finally glad I stopped by. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to find anyone worth talking to in this dirty little place.”

She ground out her cigarette in the crystal tray, her eyes sliding down to the bartop.

“If you’re looking to poke fun at me, I can’t say I’m impressed.”

He smirked, leaning forward.

“No fun intended. Just a fan interested in chatting. I wanted to pick your brain a bit, musician to musician.”

"I don't usually talk so loosely with men I've just met."

He laughed.

"You're awfully self-righteous for someone drinking bootleg gin at a seedy club."

Her glass clacked against the bar as she got to her feet.

"Well, you can enjoy the rest alone."

He jumped up, following behind.

"Aw, come on. Just a joke. I'm lookin' to talk business, honest."

"I've got no business with you."

"Not yet!" He hurried up in front of her. "I'm looking for someone to help me out with some music I'm working on."

She stopped, wary.

"How do I know you're not pulling my leg?"

"I guess you don't."

Angel folded her arms, glancing back at the bartender.

“You’ve got one minute before I ask Frisk to throw you out on your ass.”

He flashed her a grin, following her to the coat check. Angel slid her ticket over to the man behind the counter, not turning back to look at Murdoc. There was space to keep her things in a little room backstage, but she liked to keep her personal possessions in the care of someone watching over them. It made her feel more secure.

“I’ve been looking for a vocalist for a few months, someone to back up a little something I’m working on.”

“Everyone’s always working on something, aren’t they?” She rolled her eyes, her hands on her hips. “Am I supposed to be impressed? Fall all over you with your posh accent and your flirting and flattering? What do you play? Besides easy girls when you slink around in the dark.”

His smile disappeared for a moment before he coughed out a laugh.

“Oooh, I have to say that you’re a very sour woman, and I respect that. I write, and I play piano.”

“Every man writes and plays piano.”

“Every girl sings.”

She sneered, going quiet.

“I’m in-between people, and I’m looking for a partner.”

“Oh, you just met me and you’re sure that’s me?”

“Well, not sure yet, but I’d certainly like to stick my foot in the door.”

“You’ll be sticking your foot somewhere, alright. I don’t like empty compliments.”

He held up his hands.

“Not empty, love, cross my heart. I’m just a businessman looking to hire.”

Angel took her coat, slipping into it.

“Well? You interested?”

“I don’t know a damn thing about you. You could say you’re anything.”

He sighed.

“Alright, if you’re really not interested, I’ll leave you be. Just so you know, you’re too good to be crooning away your youth in a dingy little nightclub for change.”

She watched him start up the stairs toward the exit, wrapping his scarf tight around his neck. She gripped her purse under her arm, slipping her gloves on. Being taken by surprise left her feeling uneasy and watched.

"You've kept me late," she muttered, pulling the collar of her coat up.

He glanced back, stopping.

"Couldn't be more sorry, love."

“Walk me home,” she said, pushing past him. “I’m not having someone tail me to some dark alley on your account.”

He smirked, catching up alongside her.

“Don’t need to ask twice.”

They stepped out of the alleyway and into the gold glow of the streetlamps, throngs of people coming and going from the theater around the corner. She shuffled through them, fighting her way to the curb. He held out his arm to her. Angel stared at him, then slowly looped her elbow around his, still gripping her purse.

“Why’re you here?” she asked suddenly.

“Here? Looking for a drink like everyone else. Your god-awful government decided they don’t like having a good time. It’s barbaric.”

“I meant here.”

“Ah. I found a drummer I’m interested in, I came in from Boston to check him out, see if he’s everything I’ve heard about. You’re not the only one I’m scouting.”

“Scouting?”

He snorted.

“I maaaay have gotten a tip that you were working here. I was told you were someone I should take the time to see.”

“So you already knew who I was and tracked me down. That’s not frightening at all.”

“It’s called publicity, and you get used to it after a while.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re just being chased down all the time.”

He looked over at her, his red eye sinking a stone into her stomach.

“I’ve got a recognizable face.”

That much was true. His nose was crooked and broken, and his black hair and tan skin were enough to make him stand out on their own. But that eye…

“I…” she started. “I’m sorry if this is an indelicate question… but are you blind in that eye?”

Murdoc looked surprised, then burst out in a laugh that startled a group of girls passing, making them slow down to stare.

“Ah-ha-ha, yeah, yes I am.” He covered his normal eye up with his hand. “Can’t see a damned thing. Chemical burn. Be careful what you get yourself into, pet.”

Angel suddenly felt uncomfortable and rude for asking.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Sorry for what? Getting to know me? You’re right, I’m insulted.” He clapped his hand over his heart. “Downright wounded.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“Nevermind, I’m not sorry anymore.”

“Take it easy, Angie. My ego’s not frail.”

“That’s very apparent.” She looked over at him. “Angie?”

“Don’t like it?”

“It’s presumptuous to give a nickname to someone you just met.”

“Presumptuous. Isn’t that a ten-pound word. I don’t like to treat people like strangers. I find that… distasteful.”

They were quiet for a moment, but she did catch him looking at her more than once.

“How much do they pay you?” he asked suddenly.

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is if you want me to make you a better offer.”

Angel tightened her grip on his arm, looking down at her boots.

“$2 a night. Plus tips,” she added quickly.

He pulled a face, looking away.

“What?”

“Er, that’s great, love.”

“It’s not.”

He winced.

“Yeah, it’s not.”

“I know.” She tucked her face down into her collar. “It’s… complicated. I took the job here ‘cause I had to, not ‘cause I thought it was a great deal.”

“My group’ll pull in more than that.”

She rolled her eyes.

“So you don’t have any money yet.”

“Not yet, but we will.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You wouldn’t roll your eyes at me if you heard us.”

“I’m sure.”

They turned a corner to a long row of townhouses.

“This is me,” she said suddenly, slowing to a stop in front of the last one on the row, and reached for her purse.

He glanced up at the dark window.

“You live alone?”

A bolt of fear ran through her and she rounded on him, ripping away from his grip.

“Look! I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m not some floozy girl you can get one over on! I’ve got a knife and don’t think I’ll not stick you if you try something slick.”

He backed up, his hands raised.

“Eaaaasy, love. I wasn’t playing around.”

She clenched her purse, her face red with anger. Murdoc opened his arms, smirking.

“Look, I can tell when I’m not wanted. I can take a hint. Just…” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a thick card, holding it out to her. “If you change your mind, I’m staying at the Mosaic Hotel, room 37. Ring me if you decide you’re interested.”

Angel took it, glancing it:

" _ **Murdoc**_ ** _Alphonse Faust Niccals_**

**_Musician, Spiritualist & Entrepreneur_ **

_**Phone - Anywhere • Address - Everywhere** "_

“That’s a mouthful.”

“Long name, long…” He coughed, laughing. “Ah, well I’m not helping myself not look a louse, eh?”

He bowed his head, sinking his hands into his pockets.

“I’ll leave you be. Pleasure talking to you, love. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

He half-waved, turning his back to her.

"Just think it over!" he called.

"Fat chance," she yelled back, watching him slink off around the corner, leaving her standing on her doorstep alone.

She shook her head, letting herself in.

Ridiculous.


	2. Chapter 2

Payday was always bittersweet. Angel was thrilled to get money and horrified to watch how quickly it slipped away. She waited patiently for Frisk to grab her pay from the manager, watching the door eagerly for his return. They always paid in cash, which was worlds better than a check, and for that at least she was grateful. He slid her pay over the bar counter in a crisp white envelope, and she thanked him over her shoulder as she hurried out of the club as fast as she could to the grocer. She shouldered in just as the man was bringing in his sign.

“I’m sorry! I’ll be quick, I’m sorry! I just got off work.”

He grunted, walking back behind the counter.

“A lady your age shouldn’t be out this late by herself.”

“That’s why I’m in a hurry,” she said, tucking her loose hair behind her ear.

He relented, leaning on the counter.

“What do you need?”

She pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket, holding it out to him.

“Thank you.”

He glanced down at the list through his cheaters and grunted.

“Alright, be a minute.”

“Thank you.”

Angel rummaged through her purse, counting out her bills from the envelope. It was going to be another tight week. She wondered if there was another joint she could try working in, but the fear of running into Billy was ever-present. He hung around every gin joint in town, except the Black Cat Club. He and Frisk didn’t get along and it’d been years since he’d set foot in the place. There wasn’t any other safe place left.

She glanced up at the window, watching shadows of people pass under the bright lights of the cinema marquee across the street. It was getting cold out, and soon it would be snowing. She hoped her shoes would hold out one more winter before she had to take them in to get resoled. Her gaze mindlessly landed on a man crossing the street. She rushed to the doorway, poking her head out the entryway. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, but she would've recognized that strange face anywhere, even in the dark.

“Oh, Jesus Christ…”

“$10.65.”

She snapped back to him, rushing over and counting out the money as quickly as she could.

“Oh, yes, thank you very much.”

Angel struggled her shopping bags up into her arms, bracing them against her hips.

“Do you need some help?”

“No, I’ve got it! Thanks though!”

Angel pushed the door open with her back, struggling to keep up.

"Hey!" she called out, stepping into the road. "Hey!"

A car stopped inches from her, the man screaming at her to move.

"Sorry!" she called, rushing to the other side of the road, her heels slipping.

Murdoc had his hands in his pocket standing under the marquee, a cigarette stuck in the gap of his wide smile where a tooth had once been.

"Look who it is. D’you just go 'round town looking to give men a hard time?"

She hitched her bags higher up on her hips, out of breath. Her face was red, and she suddenly regretted coming over. Angel shifted from one foot to the other.

"What're you doing here?"

He snorted.

"I was minding my own business. This is a public walkway, pet."

She opened her mouth to say something, but words left her. She didn't know what to say to him, but it was too late to just walk away.

"Are you just going to stand there and not carry something?" she blurted out.

He bust out laughing.

"Oh! So you just need a pair of hands, that's it?"

She held a bag out to him. He nearly let it fall to the sidewalk, miming how heavy it was.

"Good God, love, what the hell is in here?"

Angel shouldered past him, moving along down the street.

"Oh hold on, I can't keep up with this package of yours. You must be the strongest woman alive. Forget the cabaret, you should be in the circus."

She ignored him. He came up alongside her, the bag tucked under his arm.

"What're you doing your shopping so late for, anyway?"

"I'm used to being up at night at the club. I wake up late, and I'm out late."

He flicked his ashes out, watching her. She wouldn't look at him.

"You never did give me a call."

"Thought you were just trying to get lucky, passing through town for a night. I'm surprised to see you're still here."

"Wasn't lying," he laughed. "For once."

He peeked into the bag, looking through it.

"Get your nose out of that."

“Short temper,” he snorted.

Her heart pounded in her chest. Why did she put herself right back in the same situation she’d been in last night? She’d been desperate to be rid of him at the club, but now she’d come running right up.

She stole a quick glance over at him when she thought he wouldn’t notice. Walking on his left side, she could only see his reddened eye, his skin puckered with rough pink scars like speckles from his lid to his cheekbone. He had a little limp on that side, too, though it didn’t seem to slow him down. And he was little. She beat him out by a good inch and a half in her kitten heels. It made her feel big, and she didn’t hate that.

He was… interesting. She didn’t meet many new people, and she didn’t realize how starved she was for conversation. And it was a little fun to tease him when he thought he was such hot stuff.

"This is you, right?"

She snapped her eyes away, hurrying up to get in front of him.

"Yes," she said plainly, taking her keys out.

He nodded, setting her shopping down and backing down the steps.

"Alright, well… I'll leave you to it. Have a good night, Angie. Good seeing you again."

She took a step back and watched him walk to the end of the walkway, shocked that he was leaving just like that. Her hand gripped the rail. She didn't know what possessed her to open her mouth.

“You want to come in for some coffee?”

He turned. Even in the dim streetlight, she could see his smirk.

“Aren’t you afraid of what people might say?”

“As if you worry about that.”

He shrugged, hands in his pockets.

“Ah… I’ve got a prior engagement, I don’t know…”

“If you’re going to play with me, you can forget it,” she snapped, unlocking the door.

Murdoc hurried up the stairs.

“Oh, come now, you’re so jumpy. Can’t you take a little joke?”

She turned, nearly running into him. He spread out in the doorway, his grin infectious. The leap her heart took stunned her. Her face was hot. She turned away, tucking her key back into her purse.

“Oh, that was a joke? Couldn’t tell, you’re not funny.”

“Oooh! Saucy girl. I’ll need some extra sugar in my cup to make up for how bitter you are.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll be giving you any.”

He coughed out a laugh, following her up the stairs, pulling off his scarf.

“You’re certainly feistier than you’d like to let on.”

“No, I’m just being mean to you.”

“Ah, nice girls are boring, anyhow.”

She placed the bags down and shed her coat and hat, hanging them on a hook at the top of the stairs. A glass floor lamp lit the room in a soft gold glow, casting him in shadow as she moved past. She pulled her gloves off a finger at a time, looking down at him as he lingered on the last step.

"Well, have a seat, I'll get the water going." She shook her glove at him. "One cup and you're gone."

He crossed his heart, his palm up. Angel hesitated, then disappeared into the kitchen with her shopping.

The apartment was wallpapered in green, sparsely decorated and neatly kept―a table and chairs sat beside the window, a newspaper laid out on the top beside a glass of cut flowers. Murdoc glanced around, hanging up his scarf.

A record player rested on a cabinet beside the table. He peeked in―filled with jazz and blues records. That must have been what she spent her money on. He reached into his coat pocket for a cigarette, striking a match. They were meticulously organized by the name of the performers, kept in their original paper sleeves. He plucked out a disc, sliding it down the peg and turned it on, placing the needle carefully. Music crackled into a pleasant tune, filling the quiet of the night air.

"Help yourself," he heard her say.

"I always do."

The door to the bedroom was shut. He tiptoed over, his eyes glancing back to the kitchen.

"Do you take cream?" she called.

He snapped to attention.

"No, thank you. Just sugar."

"Keep your nose out of my room."

He drew back, striding to the table on the far side of the room.

"I'd never. I'm a gentleman."

"You're some sort of man."

"Oh, love, you've never met a man like me," he laughed, sitting down.

"Mm, funny, I've met plenty of men that've told me that same thing."

"Thought I wasn't funny," he snickered.

"If you're going to smoke, do it out the window."

He tensed, leaning over to the window and blowing a puff of smoke outside.

"Course I am," he called.

She reappeared, wiping her hands off on a kitchen rag.

"It'll be a minute."

A silence fell over them, and the rhythm of the music felt like her own heartbeat―fast and loud. Murdoc blew another breath out the window, leaning back in the chair, his leg kicked out in front of him and his coat falling open to reveal the curve of his side. She looked away, trying not to stare. Maybe it was a mistake to bring him inside, like bringing in a stray dog that bites as a thank you. She was suddenly very aware of him, and very aware of the sound of her breathing. His bangs fell back to show his face, his eyebrows raised in a cocky smile.

"See something you like?" he said through the cigarette hanging from his lips.

"I see a man with no decorum," she said, pulling out the other chair.

"Angie, I might not be from around here, but… you talk like someone's grandmother."

Angel sat, her face pulled into a sneer.

"If I wanted to be insulted in my own home I would've kept my last man around."

He laughed, waving his hands.

"Oh, no harm meant, kitten. I think it's cute." He leaned on his hand, grinning like a cat. "So, your _'last man'_... Does that mean there's a current man?"

"Not that that's any of your business." She glanced out the window. "But no, there's no one. Not that I'm sour over it. I prefer the silence."

He waved the cigarette over towards the record player.

"Silence, eh?"

"The only man I need is Cab Calloway."

Smoke leaked from between his teeth as he laughed. She'd never seen a man laugh so much. It made her heart jump, even if it was at her expense.

"That's fair, love." He nodded at the kitchen door. "Better grab that coffee if you want to send me on my way faster."

She tensed. Being told what to do put a sour taste in her mouth.

"I'll get it when I please."

He spread his hands.

"Then I'll stay a bit longer."

Angel sat up straight.

"Now you're just trying to get a rise out of me."

"Is it working?"

"Certainly not."

She got up and stormed into the kitchen, placing two cups and her sugar bowl onto a tray.

"Honestly," she muttered to herself, gathering up spoons and the creamer. "Insufferable."

She grabbed the hot handle of the coffee pot without thinking and yanked her hand back, yelping. A harsh sting ran through her fingers and she clutched them tight to her stomach.

Murdoc's chest brushed up against her back. He took her wrist, holding her palm out. She didn't stop him as he examined her red fingers and leaned down to blow a cool stream of air onto her hot skin. A tremble shook her from her toes to her open lips. He looked up at her, his self-satisfied smile ever-present.

"Should be more careful, Angie. Your fingers are hotter than your temper."

He glanced back down at her palm, his eyes locked on a long, puckered scar slashed across her hand. She pulled it back, pressing her palm to her middle.

"I'm fine."

He switched the cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other, his smirk gone. She turned away, grabbing up a kitchen cloth to pour the coffee.

"Alright," he said, taking the tray. "Let me 'fore you burn yerself again."

"I don't need you mothering me," she muttered.

"Oh, no, not at all. You told me I'm… what was it? A man with no decorum? Just trying to live up to your standards, pet."

She scowled, but let him take the tray back to the table, rubbing her fingers. He dropped five lumps of sugar into his cup.

"Christ, do you want some coffee with that?"

He stirred, the spoon clinking along the sides.

"Ooooh, now who's mothering?"

"Maybe you're in need of some."

He rose the cup to his lips and tucked his dying cigarette between his fingers, leaning against the table.

"Is that what I need? Hm, I've never seen a matron dress like that."

His eyes roamed down to the edge of her dress cut just above the knees, his smile cresting over the rim of the cup. She poured cream for herself, not looking at him.

"Never seen a devil dress in loafers."

"A devil! Oh, now you're just trying to make me blush."

A smile cracked her lips. He set the cup down, leaning over.

"There's something on your face, love," he said, pinching her cheek.

A snorting giggle erupted from her as she slapped his hand away.

"Oh, so you can smile," he chuckled. "Maybe I am funny."

"Not in the way you think."

The record ran quiet, silence filling the room. She took a sip, nearly choking as he leaned into her neck, whispering in her ear.

"Well, I'll keep trying to get that damned frown off yer face. I'd rather hear that pretty voice laughing than giving me a scolding."

Her stomach flipped, her face burning red hot. She dipped her lips to the cup to hide herself, trying desperately to look unphased.

"You going to put another record on, or are you just going to keep standing here flirting?"

He grinned. 

"Is it working?"

"I preferred you trying to get me riled."

"Oh, I'll get you riled, alright."

Her chest was so tight she thought she was going to burst. No man had ever said to her even half of what he'd dared to say to her in one evening. She'd have slapped any of them that'd try a thousand times straight across the cheek. But Murdoc stayed her hand in a way she couldn't understand.

"Awful big talk for a short man."

"Have to make up where I can," he said, stepping back towards the record cabinet.

A breath of cold air slipped through the window, chilling her where he'd been. She took another hasty sip, sitting down to keep herself from getting so close again.

"Cab Calloway, huh?" he mumbled, crouching down to flick through the records. "Alright."

He set a disc on, the rumble of horns filling the room. He flicked his ashes out the window. Angel held out a saucer for him to grind out the end.

He sat down, one arm over the back of the chair and his legs kicked out. No manners. She had to focus on her cup, her knees pressing together. He wasn’t unattractive and sprawled out like that he looked downright indecent. He leaned over, lacing his fingers around his cup.

"Have you thought about my offer?"

She was glad to have a distraction, but this wasn't the one she would have preferred.

"Yes."

"And?"

"I haven't decided. I still don't know if I trust you. You seem like a man that's not exactly on the level."

His cup tapped against its saucer as he snorted.

"I met you at a shady gin joint. You could be anything or be anywhere, but there you were. Can't imagine your nose is clean, either."

"That…" She didn't know what to say without getting more personal than she'd have liked. "That's different."

"Hmm, is it? My only crime is wanting a good drink more than your government likes. That and some other minor offenses." He shrugged. "Alright, so I'm not the most law-abiding man there ever was. But my offer is serious. Wouldn't stick my neck out and risk my professional reputation for any bird that walked by."

"That's exactly what I'm worried about. You've any idea how many men have wanted to _'make me a starlet'_? Enough to make me inclined to turn you down."

He spread his arms, shrugging.

"Do all of them get invited up to your flat?"

He had her there. He leaned in.

"What'll it take for you to trust me?"

"Be someone else," she snorted.

"Hmm, already tried that. But I'm afraid I'm stuck like this. Anything else?"

She thought, rubbing the handle between her fingers.

"Prove it. I want to hear some of your music. If you're good, I'll think it over. If you're not… well, then you can have your card back."

"Alright. There's a piano in that club, right? Take me in with you before hours and I'll show you something. Or after hours if you can, and I'll give you a private performance," he added with a wink.

He held his hand out and she took it hesitantly, shaking it. He leaned back.

"Fantastic! See? We're friends already."

"Friends?" she scoffed. "I've just met you, I'd hardly call you a friend."

"Oh, what'd you call me, then?"

A grin spread over her lips as she took a drink.

"A nuisance."

"That's even better than friends."

"You really are something."

She got to her feet, fetching the coffee pot to fill their cups. He smirked up at her, his gaze making her feel warm. She looked away.

"What're you looking so pleased for?"

"Thought I was getting one cup and the boot."

Angel paused, her stomach lurching.

"Well… I changed my mind. I'm allowed to."

He shook a finger at her.

"So I'm growing on you."

"Keep that up and you'll be outside faster than you can shut that smart mouth of yours." He snorted, taking another two lumps of sugar. "And you'd better pay me back for using up all my sweetener."

The wind whipped in cold and crisp, blowing back his hair. He stirred his cup, lazily, rolling his eyes.

"Here," she said, holding out a tin of biscotti.

She shook it. He plucked one out, swirling it around in his coffee. She took one for herself, breaking it in half as she glanced over her hands to look at him. His eye hypnotized her, and she couldn’t stop herself from staring.

“It’s not nice to stare at cripples.”

He might as well have reached across the table and slapped her. She looked away.

“I’m not trying to be mean. I’ve just… never seen something like that before.”

He bent forward.

“You want to see it up close?”

“Not really,” she lied, looking away cooly.

“You want to ask what happened, I can tell.”

She stared at her cup, not wanting to admit that he was right. But that was a horrid thing to ask.

“It’s alright, everyone does,” he said, covering up his good eye, his reddened one piercing right into her like a demon. “It’s a mystery! And people love to pick. It’s natural.”

“It’s your own business,” she said, sitting up straight. “No one has to explain themselves to anyone.”

He peeked through his fingers, pulling his hand away.

“Seems like maybe you’re not talkin’ about me anymore.”

“I just don’t think that people owe their life story to everyone who asks.”

He smirked down at his cup.

“You’re a very private person. Which’s very ironic considering you’ve let a perfect stranger into your home.”

“Are you saying I made a mistake?”

“If you’d ask most people.”

She pursed her lips.

“Well… you’re not the worst person I’ve met. As far as I know.”

Murdoc tapped his fingers along the tabletop, clicking his tongue in the silence.

“My Da’, he was a rough man. Cruel. He threw acid in my face when I was young. Nearly blinded me in this eye.” He tapped his left cheek. “Never healed. It’s been some time since then. It doesn’t bother me anymore. Though, I will kill the rat if I ever see him again.”

The record sputtered out, crackling as the needle moved over the disc. The wind rattled the windowpane as she played with her fingers. Her stomach twisted. She felt her scarred up palm under the table.

“That’s… I’m sorry.”

He shrugged.

“I’m the one who’s askin’ you to trust me. There’s a little something you can take to the bank.”

A long moment hung between them, an uneasy quiet that made Angel itch to say anything just to fill it, though she couldn’t think of anything to say after that.

“Well, this has been lovely,” he said all of a sudden, getting to his feet. “But I wasn’t actually lying about having a prior engagement. My bandmate’s waiting for me. And I do like to string him along, but he’ll be worried if I leave him out to dry much longer. He’s an anxious boy. Prone to fits. Sad little thing.”

Angel opened her mouth, standing up so quickly that she scratched the table across the floor. She smoothed herself down, trailing behind him as he went for his jacket beside the steps.

“Oh, um, alright. Sure. It’s probably time for you to get going anyway.”

He pulled his collar up around his neck and laced his scarf tight up to his chin. She wrung her hands, nerves biting at her.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I was being rude.”

He laughed, coming right up to her, so close that she had to take a half-step back.

“I prefer your company, Angie. Believe me, I’d stay all night if you’d let me. You’d run out of coffee. Maybe next time I come by, we can…” He leaned in close with parted lips. Angel went rigid, unable to make herself move. His sly little smirk crawled back onto his face. “...Play cards,” he finished. “Unless there’s something else you’d rather do?”

She swallowed against her dry throat and shouldered past him.

“We’ll see if you’re any good.” A hot flash swelled over her. “Any good of a musician.”

He followed close behind on the steps as she held the door open for him. She found it hard to look him in the eye when they stood face-to-face in the doorway. She clutched her hands to her chest, the wind cutting cold against her skin.

“Tomorrow night?” he said in a quiet voice.

She nodded her head.

“I’ll talk to Frisk. Five o’clock?”

“It’s a date,” he purred, stamping her cheek with a quick kiss.

She was fit to burst, every muscle in her body going tense as he passed, melting into the night with a little wave over his shoulder.

“Kay…” she whispered, hovering in the doorway until he disappeared around the corner.


	3. Chapter 3

It was difficult to wait the day away until she had to leave for the club. Her mind raced as she took her morning walk, then paced her apartment looking for things to do to run out the hours. Doubt consumed her. She realized, with horror, that she’d agreed to something she shouldn’t have. She barely knew this man, and somehow he’d sweet-talked her into giving him a chance.

She looked through her few clothes, trying to take her mind off her glaring mistake, one she knew she’d regret. She settled on a straight-cut sapphire-blue dress that cut off at the knee, simple enough to give the impression she wasn’t trying to impress. She wasn’t, she thought quickly to herself. She rolled her stockings up and clipped them to her garter, glancing up at her vanity.

Her eyes traveled down to the jewelry box that sat there.

The satin-lined little box was as pristine as the day it was given to her. She cracked it open, staring down at the string of pearls that rested coiled like a snake with its iridescent glow, immaculate and cold to the touch. Every few weeks she debated pawning it. She would get a nice price for it, as well-kept as they were. She even got as close as the door of the shop, the box burning in her purse like a lit match, but it sputtered and died as she hovered in the doorway and slowly made her way back home. She couldn't get rid of it. It was like an anchor, a chain that tethered her to Billy. She couldn't wear it, and she couldn't get rid of it. So it sat. And stared at her.

Angel shut it quick, pushing it aside as she returned to pacing her room, twisting her hands together.

It was a mistake to have Murdoc come to the club. She should have just turned him down and let it go. She glanced at the business card on the vanity, her eyes tracing his long name, _Murdoc Alphonse Faust Niccals_. What a joke. A joke that wasn't funny. His ego was disgraceful, and nothing made her angrier than inflated confidence. But try as she did, she couldn't muster up the irritation she expected from herself. Instead, she was rubbing perfume behind her ears and touching up her hair. She scoffed, pulling on her coat in the living room and gathering up her purse and hat. The whole thing was ridiculous. As if he was any good. As if he'd make good on his offer. It was all a charade, a play, a shadow in the dark.

But even as she repeated that to herself with every step she took down her stairs, she couldn't swallow the excitement that welled up in her chest.

She tried to reign herself in, holding her purse tight in her hands, watching the cracks of the sidewalk pass under her feet. The possibility that he'd stand her up was high. She wondered if maybe she should have cut her losses and just gone back home while she had the chance. But her body moved along by itself.

Her inner-voice shut up when she turned the corner and her eyes fell on a familiar figure leaning up against the wall of the building where the club was situated under. Her heart leaped. He was wrapped up in the same long, grey wool coat, the collar turned up and his scarf tied up tight around his neck. And like before, no hat. He certainly wasn’t sharp-dressed, or formal, but he was frighteningly easy on the eyes to her. He glanced up, his red eye piercing into her. She clutched her hand tight to the front of her coat and held her breath down hard.

"Angie, you're late," he chastised as she approached, tapping his finger to the watch around his wrist.

"I'm not late, you're early," she brushed him off, moving past him. "We're going in the back door."

He hesitated, then slunk along behind her, nearly walking on the back of her shoes.

"Well, hello to you too."

"Hello," she said simply.

He blew out the last of his cigarette and stamped it out on the wall.

"Angie, you still sore about me ditching you last night?"

"I'm not angry."

"It's hard to tell with you, you're so bitter," he poked, snorting.

She ignored him and knocked four times on the door around the back. It took a moment, but the bartender appeared, peaking through the crack before swinging the door open. Murdoc clicked his tongue.

“What, no secret password?”

“You’ve been reading too many trashy novels,” she muttered.

Frisk held the door open for her, giving Murdoc a long, hard stare as he passed.

"That one doesn't like me," he muttered into her ear.

"He knows a troublemaker when he sees one."

"Hm, smart man."

The club was empty and quiet. Without the patrons, her heels made a thunderous clacking across the tile floor to the stage. She stripped off her coat, laying it over the top of the piano with her purse and her hat.

“Francis usually plays before the club opens, but I had Frisk ask him to lend it to me for an hour.”

"Oh, only an hour. I'll have to be quick."

She stared at him.

"Are you finished being coy?"

"Never."

He dragged his hand over the body of the glossy black piano, looking it over.

“Just an hour… Well, tonight my schedule’s all free. If I make the cut, you up for that game of cards?” he said in a low voice.

Angel seized up, watching him.

“I…”

“Angela, there you are. I tried you at home and you didn’t pick up.”

She whipped around. The manager, Rick, made a beeline for her from his office.

“I’ve been here, I was just about to―”

“I have to have you work tonight.”

Her stomach twisted.

"What?"

He moved right past her to the bar, rubbing a crystal tumbler against the silk lining of his jacket. She hurried over, trying to keep herself quiet.

"Ricky, I can't. I… I've got plans."

"That's too bad," he muttered, splashing a healthy three fingers of whiskey into his glass.

He slid right back toward his office, not looking at her. Angel dogged him, her voice growing louder.

“But I have the night off, Ricky, this isn’t fair,” she hollered, heels clicking right behind him, leaving Murdoc hovering at the piano.

“Sorry, kid, but Gina’s hung me out to dry and I’ve got no one else to bring in. You know there’s never anyone left to book on a Friday night.” He whirled on her, making her back up. “Besides, what do you have to do? No husband, no kids, I’m saving you some money ‘fore you spend it on something stupid.”

“Rick, give her a break,” Frisk piped up from behind the counter.

“You’re taking her side? Jesus Christ.”

“I haven’t even got my things, I’m not dressed right.”

“Then have your boyfriend run and get 'em,” he waved at Murdoc, turning away. “If you want to keep this job, you’re working tonight.”

Her whole face flushed red, her arms trembling with rage. Bubbles of angry tears started pooling in the corners of her eyes and threatened to roll down her cheeks.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Well, whoever he is, it doesn’t matter to me. And don’t pull those crocodile tears,” he muttered. “Just get ready.”

He shut the door of the office behind him, leaving all three of them in stunned silence.

Angel trembled, set to go off like a gun. It took every ounce of restraint in her to keep from ripping his door open and dragging him across the desk. She turned on her heel and breezed past Murdoc, shooting him a sharp look.

“Thanks for the help,” she spat, walking right past him.

He skittered along behind her.

“Oh, my help would have gotten you fired for sure. I was doing you a favor keeping to myself.”

She slammed her purse down onto the long vanity of the dressing room, pulling up the stool with a deafening screech. Murdoc pulled up a chair for himself, collapsing into it with a grunt. He rubbed his knee, his eyes locked on her. She twisted a gold tube of berry-red lipstick and ran it over her lips haphazardly, throwing it back into her bag.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ve never met as many no-good, selfish dogs as I have in this city. And if I had half a brain, I’d get on the next train out of here and never come back.”

She grabbed up the mascara from the vanity, pulling it through her lashes, nearly jabbing her eye.

"I could arrange that."

"Yeah, and then I'd be broke within a week," she spat.

Gina had left her dress there, still on the hanger. She’d probably run off with another guy who’d steal her money and she’d be right back the next week. It was a cycle that ran like clockwork.

Angel spun around, eyes locking with him.

"Turn around."

"I could give you a hand."

"Give me a hand, and I'll take it off you."

"Oh, I don't doubt that."

He raised his arms, turning himself away. Her eyes trained on him, unblinking as she slid out of her dress, leaving her in her slip and stockings.

“I’m watching you, so if you think you’re going to be smart, I’ll poke out that good eye.”

He leaned back, stretching.

“Angie, you’re so violent. Careful, it’s making me like you more,” he snickered.

Somehow she managed to squeeze into the dress, buttoning it up though the seams strained. Gina was a tiny thing, and Angela wasn’t. She was tall and wide and it made it all the more obvious when the dress came to rest almost at the top of her stockings. She sucked in her breath, trying to make it lay right against her. 

“Alright, I’m done.”

Murdoc spun around in his seat, straddling the chair backward as he watched her struggle.

“See? I’m capable of behaving myself when I want to. I just don’t want to.”

She didn’t say anything, turning side to side in the mirror, pulling a long face. He leaned his chin on his arms

“Looks better on you.”

“You haven’t even seen Gina,” she muttered.

“Don’t have to.”

“I don’t appreciate empty flattery.”

“Not empty, love, you’re stunning.”

She glanced back at him, her lips pressed together.

“I’d feel better if this wasn’t three sizes too small.”

Murdoc slipped his hand into the pocket of his coat.

“I think you need a little shot of bourbon.”

He shook a bullet-silver flask at her, the liquid sloshing around inside with a tinny splash.

“You just carry that around?”

“I’m a louse, remember?”

“That you are.”

She unscrewed the cap, taking a swig back and letting the whiskey burn all down her throat. The vapor made her cough into the back of her hand.

“I guess you’ll have to wait to show me what a big star you are,” she mumbled, straightening the dress out.

“Oh, I’ll still give you a show. There’ll just be a bigger audience.”

She stopped, turning all the way around to stare at him. He was dead serious.

“As if I’d let you make that big of a fool of me. You don’t have any music with you, anyway,” she muttered.

“Don’t need it as long as you pick something I know.” He leaned his chin on the back of the chair. “Never learned how to read it, to be honest. I play by ear.” He wiggled his fingers.

“That’s not very professional.”

“That’s fine with me. I never made a living playing it straight.”

“And what if you’re no good, huh? Then I lose my job for sure.”

“Well, that should prove to you how confident I am. And if you lose your job, you can shack up on the road with me,” he said with a wide grin.

"My dream come true," she spat.

Murdoc slid out of his coat and let it fall carelessly over the seat. She went rigid, stopped still in mid-step, her eyes running down along his suspenders to where his shirt met the hem of his pants. The curve of his side made her clench her hands together.

He rolled up his sleeves, making her straighten up.

"What are you doing?"

“You know _Blue River_?”

“Yeah,” she admitted in an apprehensive little voice, watching him cross the room.

“I’ll give Ricky a little talking-to, see what I can do. You know I can be persuasive,” he said with a wink, disappearing into the hall.

Angel stared at the empty doorway, her mind completely melting like a candle. This was a horrible idea.

Angel peeked around the edge of the stage. It was busy, even for a Friday night. Of course, tonight of all nights, it had to be a nearly full house. She paced, trying to wrangle her thoughts and the tight dress that crept its way up her body as she moved.

She jumped as Murdoc appeared behind her without a word.

“Jesus,” she hissed, clapping a hand to her chest. “Where have you been?”

“Talking to Ol’ Ricky. Not a pleasant fellow, but I got him to come around.” He leaned in. “Excited to play with me, partner?”

Her face flushed, the reality of his words sinking like a stone in her gut. She stammered.

“How the hell did you manage that?”

“Oh, I made him see things the uh… _Murdoc Niccals_ way.”

"What did you do to him?"

"Me? Do you think I did something untoward? I'm hurt."

Angel's blank stare broke his charade.

"I got him stumbling drunk," he laughed, his lighter striking a golden glow in his hands. A shot of smoke burst from him. "Your boss is a real lightweight. I kept up with him, drink for drink, and look at me! Fit as could be. Could run ten kilometers if I wanted to. But that's bad for your health, you know?"

He slipped the cigarette into the gap of his missing canine, smiling.

"That just means you're a drunk," she muttered, peering out at the bustling hall.

Though she would have never admitted it, she was quietly impressed.

"I did give him the rest of my good Kentucky bourbon, so I paid a hefty price. I hope you appreciate my dedication to the craft."

"Of music, or drinking?"

"Yes."

He stuffed the lighter into his chest pocket, hiking his sleeves up a bit higher.

"I'm tired of waiting," he said, making his way down the hall. "It's making my itchy."

"Murdoc, stop! Don't!"

She peeked out with a stone in her stomach. He passed right around the front of the stage, flicking his ashes into a patrons' tray as he passed, pulling looks from everyone as he went. He was a sight, that was for sure, this bizarre, sloppy-dressed man with his shaggy hair, his rolled sleeves, and his evil red eye that watched the crowd sightlessly through a white fog.

Silence settled over the room, everyone watching this devil climb the few steps up to the piano where Francis sat almost every night. Murdoc's presence seemed amusing to some and downright irritating to others. Angel rubbed her fingers against her temple and she took long, measured breaths. It was only one night. Just one night. She could get through it. She looked out at him as he plucked an ashtray from a table and set it on the piano alongside a drink he'd spirited away while her back was turned. She changed her mind. There was no way she could make it through this.

If there was anyone left in the club whose attention hadn't been focused on the dark-haired interloper, they snapped their heads up at the loud notes he banged out of the keys that usually played in quiet and soft. She cradled her face. This would be her last night at the Black Cat, no doubt.

But as the shock of the sound ebbed away, she pulled her hands back, her ears perking. He… wasn't bad. Rough and loud, but the tune he played was pleasant in a strange way.

Her feet moved on their own, pulling out from the shadows onto the harsh light of the tiny stage, all eyes falling on her. Except Murdoc. He didn't even so much as glance up as she stepped out. She cleared her throat, coming up close to the mic as she focused on her usual spot behind the bar, watching Frisk move along from patron to patron. For her, Frisk was her only audience, and he knew never to look back at her. It was easier to sing to one person than a crowd. Especially when they all had their attention expectantly focused on her and the strange man behind the piano.

_"Birds in the trees, and a song on the breeze. Blue River, why are you blue? Light of the moon, and the starlight in view, must they bring sadness to you? Must you sing of days gone by? Must you always sigh?"_

Murdoc’s music wasn’t structured and perfect like Francis’. He played too loose and too fast and mixed in notes that didn’t belong. But it felt real and earnest. He played with urgency, and it sounded just as ragtag as him. Even the sad song felt full and light. He made her chase his rhythm, a dance she didn’t know and he was leading. It moved and thrilled her in a way that caught her by surprise.

_"Tell me why your song is sad, never glad? Blue River, Blue River, do you hold the memory of a vanished dream? Sing to me of lips I've pressed and caressed, Blue River, Blue River. Till I saw my hopes go drifting down your stream. When I hear your lonesome song, something's wrong. Blue River, Blue River, maybe it's because I'm just as blue as you."_

A sparse ripple of claps became applause, her eyes snapping back across the sea of patrons. They looked… happy. Her chest swelled as she stole a glance over at Murdoc. He wasn’t looking, but he was smirking, tipping the whiskey glass to his lips.

They played another, and another, Murdoc blending each song into the next without even a breath in-between. If she didn’t know the tune, he sensed her silence and just rambled on to something else without pause. He never even looked up, never hesitated. She couldn’t believe that such a cocky man actually had the talent to back up his claims.

He only stopped when she did, when she took a final bow before slipping backwards behind the curtain. He got to his feet, his cigarette between his lips and his drink in his hand, unceremoniously cutting his way straight across the stage and walking right off it, making his way back to the bar.

“Frisk! I’m empty!” he called with a laugh.

  
  


He met her at the stage steps after she’d struggled out of Gina’s dress and back into hers. He was smiling something awful, looking as pleased as could be. She all at once wanted to slap his face and plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Well? Have I met your expectations?”

“You’re… not half-bad,” she admitted, looking down at him from the top of the stairs.

He spread his arms in a shrug.

“Wasn’t lying to you.”

He followed along behind her, carrying his empty tumbler of whiskey with his fingers loosely gripping the rim.

“So? You ready to take me up on my offer?

Angel closed her eyes, groaning. At this point, she thought to herself, what more did she have to lose? Her home, she promptly spat back, her money, her job. She rubbed her fingers, teetering on a razor’s edge of choice.

“Alright,” she said on a long exhale. “I’ll give you a chance. One chance! If it goes south, I’m out.”

“Oh, no one’s ever stupid enough to give me second chances, I’m well-used to those stakes.” He flicked her nose, making her flinch. “You won’t regret it.”

“I’m almost certain that I will.”

There was nowhere to sit along the front of the bar, so she squeezed in at the tail end, sitting down at the last stool where she was almost behind the counter. Murdoc leaned in close on his elbow behind her and set his empty glass down. There was barely enough room to stand, so he had to come up close, and she could feel his warm chest pressing against her back, his arm against hers on the bartop. She didn’t move, letting his touch go without protest.

Frisk slid up, pouring her a gin with honey and lemon. And in front of Murdoc, a Grasshopper appeared. She nearly choked on her drink.

“Are you laughing at me?” he hummed in her ear.

“Yes,” she said, wiping her lip with her thumb.

He moved against her back, his cheek brushing her shoulder as he reached for the glass.

“You’re a cruel woman. This is a dignified drink.”

She laughed, a real, genuine laugh that made him smile.

It felt strangely pleasant, Murdoc curled around her at the end of the bar, like being in their own secret world where no one else existed. This stranger she never thought she would have ever trusted or spoken to, was inches away, making her laugh more than anyone had in a long time. It was loud in the club, so he had to talk almost right into her ear. His chest rubbed against her every time he bent forward, making her heart beat fast. His bare arm laid alongside hers on the bar, and as he shifted, she could see a tattoo from under his sleeve.

He snickered, setting his drink down, and pulled up the sleeve to show a black-ink tattoo of a raven. She glanced up at him, then tentatively reached out.

“Ouch!” he yelped as her fingers made contact, making her jump and nearly drop her glass.

She pulled a face as he laughed at her.

“Sorry, you’re too easy. That’s for making fun of my drink. You can touch it.”

Angel’s fingers came down to trace the raised edges of the bird. Her light touch made him seize up, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest that made her flush.

“I don’t know what would make someone willingly go through that kind of pain,” she muttered, trying to cover up her nervousness.

“Oh, love, anything beautiful is worth going through a bit of pain.”

She glanced up at him, scoffing.

“You come up with that line on your own?”

“Ah, I’ll keep that answer to myself, thanks.”

She took her hand back. He groaned in disappointment.

“You don’t have to stop.”

Her insides twisted into a knot, her heart leaping into her throat. He managed to make anything sound like more than it was, and somehow it always took her by surprise. Murdoc flashed her a grin, taking a drink.

“I’ve got other tattoos if you’d like to see. Ah, though your audience might get more of a show than they asked for.”

Angel tore her stare away.

“You are a louse.”

“Guilty. Of that, and loads more.”

Talking came easily between them as the night wore on, Murdoc leaning over her, making jokes and trying to be sly as Angel made light fun of him and laughed into her shoulder. Frisk watched the pair, shaking his head to himself, though even he had to admit, it had been a long time since he’d seen her talk this much.

She glanced down at the little watch around her wrist, her smile fading. It was getting late, later than she would have liked. She looked back at him as he hovered close. She lowered her eyes.

“It’s almost midnight,” Angel said, clearing her throat.

“So?” he prodded. “You going to turn into a pumpkin?”

He squeezed the tip of her nose lightly between his fingers and she swatted him away.

“No, but Frisk is going to start cutting people off soon.”

“Oh, well, I’m only here for the drinks, so I guess I’ll move along.”

The heat of his chest left her, a chill running up her spine in its absence. She shook herself, her legs nearly buckling from sitting so long as she went to stand.

They slipped out the back door where they’d come in, stepping out into the chilly late October air with their coats drawn up around their necks. He stopped to face her when they reached the street.

“You still up for a game of Gin Rummy?” he mumbled, sliding in close, running the button of her coat between his finger and thumb in slow circles.

Angel felt a bullet of heat shoot through her, all the air leaving her at once. She turned her face away but didn’t back up.

“I think I’ve had plenty of surprises from you for one night.”

“Aw, Angie, you still have to make up to me for making fun of my eye. Fair’s fair.”

She turned to look into the street, thinking quietly to herself when she caught sight of him. Her face drained white as a sheet, her lips parting in a stunned gape that made Murdoc’s smile disappear.

“Angie?”

She grabbed him by the front of his coat, pulling him hard into the dark alleyway and slamming him up against the wall. He coughed out a laugh, his grin growing.

“Angie, if I knew you were so eager, I would’ve been bolder before.”

Her gloved hand slapped down over his lips.

“Shut your mouth,” she hissed.

Her eyes were trained on the opposite side of the street, through the parked cars and the shadows of people passing, like a cat watching prey from the bush. She laid up close to him, pressing so tightly against his body that Murdoc could feel the heat of her through their clothes.

He had to shut his bad eye to focus through the glare of the light against the darkness, straining to see what she saw, but nothing looked any different now than a minute ago.

She craned her neck, watching someone until they disappeared from sight. She let out a long breath, hanging her head. He peeled her fingers from his mouth.

“Not that I mind having you rub up against me, but am I allowed to talk now?”

Angel went to pull away, but he held her fast by the elbows, looking at her close from under his shaggy bangs.

“You’re in some kind of trouble, aren’t you?”

“I just… I saw my old man.”

Her voice was thin and reedy and small. He gave a slow nod, his grip relaxing. His hands slid slow down her arms to curl his fingers around hers.

“Change your mind about that card game?”

“I won’t complain if you walk me home.”

Murdoc stared at her a long moment, forcing her heart into her throat.

“Alright, love. Let’s get going before you change your mind about that.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tagged: sexual content

She gripped him tight to her as they walked in silence, even Murdoc keeping quiet as they went. It was the third time he’d walked her home. Angel wrestled with that thought. She was getting comfortable, and that felt like a mistake. But there was something odd about him that made her feel at ease, something strange that settled her even though he should have been the last person to make her feel that way.

Her apartment appeared in front of them far too quickly, her heart sinking as he let her go. She turned to face him, straightening up.

"Thank you, for being half-decent tonight," she said with a strict edge to her voice.

"That's a quick turnaround from being a louse."

“I said _half_ -decent.”

He waited behind her as she turned the key, her eyes locked downward.

"I… suppose you could come in for a minute. It's raining."

"Pouring," he corrected.

Tiny little droplets of rain pattered against the pavement.

“Besides,” he hummed, coming up close. “You and I have a game to play.”

They slipped inside, the door closing quietly behind.

Angel hung up her coat and hat, disappearing into the kitchen as he lingered behind.

“Is tea alright?”

“Just fine.”

Murdoc cupped his hand around his lighter, taking a huge breath as he leaned against the windowpane, staring out into the night sky. He leaned his head against the wood. It was oddly comforting to be in a proper house instead of a hotel. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept in a bed that was his, or hung around in a place without ten other people on the same floor. A cool wind blew against him, damp and electrified. He let out a stream of smoke as rain splattered against the street, harder and harder until the sky opened up into sheets that pounded down in bursts.

"Oh shit," he muttered. "Well, look at that."

He breathed one last shot of smoke out the window before pulling it shut against the rain that splashed in on a strong wind, stamping his cigarette out in the saucer she’d left out from his last visit.

He flicked through her records, pulling out one after another till he was satisfied and laid one down on the player. He sunk down into a chair at the table, rubbing his wrists. They hurt more than he'd have liked when he played for too long, now. But it had been worth it. It had been ages since he enjoyed playing that much. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind drifting away.

Angel returned with a pot of tea and two cups with her creamer and sugar, setting it down between them. She shuffled over to the cabinet against the opposite wall, pulling open the drawer to search around inside. He leaned back to see what she was doing, his eyes running up the back of her legs to the hem of her dress.

She spun around quick and sat down at the table, pulling a deck of cards out of a biscuit tin. He stifled his laugh into his palm as he leaned forward.

"What?"

"You, uh, really did want to play cards."

She shuffled, the cards snapping loud together as they folded themselves into her hands. Her voice stayed distant and proper though her cheeks burned hot.

"Of course, isn't that what you suggested?"

He chuckled, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb.

"Ah, I suppose it is." He pulled his chair closer, trying to wrangle his grin. "What are we playing? Rummy? Piquet?"

"Poker," she said simply, pulling a handful of bottle caps from the tin. Her chips.

A strangled laugh bubbled out of him as he slid a cap across the table with his long finger.

"Two-person poker?"

She pulled a face, shuffling again.

"It's a good way to get to know someone."

He leaned on his hand.

"Oh, are you trying to get to know me?"

"If I'm going to work with you, then yes."

"Alright, alright, well... what do you have to bet with? I'd feel horrible taking your money, I know how much you make."

Angel thought quietly to herself, the rain pattering hard against the amber stained glass of the lattice window.

"A favor."

"A favor?"

She nodded.

"Good as a check. We play till the caps run out. Winner takes all. Whoever holds the most at the end gets it. Any request, within reason," she added quickly.

He smirked, clicking his tongue.

“Are you sure that’s a bet you want to make with me?”

“If you’re so confident, then you shouldn’t have any problem with the terms.”

He scoffed.

“Jesus, Angie, you’re quite intense, you know that? You must scare away every man you meet.”

“You’re still sitting here,” she said, splitting the bottle caps between them.

He rubbed the smooth metal between his fingers.

“I told you, I’m not like other men.”

“I’m starting to believe that. Though, not to your benefit.” She dealt out two cards each, her eyes focused on the table. "You're going to be carrying my groceries for a while," she hummed.

“You’d best be careful, making threats. You’re getting me all worked up.”

She laid out two cards face-up between them and three face-down, setting the deck aside. She peeked at her hand, her lips unmoving. Her eyes flicked up to him. Murdoc was all smiles all the time, it was hard to tell if he had a good hand or if he was just blustering like always. Angel, however, was completely stoic, a stone statue as his eyes ran over her face.

He chuckled, tossing in a few caps for the ante. Angel put in, flipping the next card. She glanced at each one, then back to her hand.

“I’ve got a question for you, Angie.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“You’re in trouble with your ex, aren’t you?”

“Observant,” she said in a sarcastic tone. “How’d you ever gather that? Raise.”

He tossed in alongside.

“Call.” He flicked the top of his cards. “So, what is it? You owe him money? He go behind your back?”

“It’s not about me,” she muttered. “Not really.”

“He got you mixed up in something?”

“You could say that. It would be… unfortunate to run into him again. I’d rather avoid it as long as I can.” She flipped the next card. “Raise.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just leave town?”

“It would be,” she admitted. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t,” she snapped, then let out a long breath, flipping the last card.

He laid his cards out.

“Three of a kind,” he said, leaning back.

“Straight.”

Murdoc bit his lip, smirking. A tiny grin pulled at the corners of her mouth.

“Don’t get distracted,” she chided, pulling the caps toward her.

He snorted a laugh, handing his cards over.

“Instilling a false sense of security, love.”

She was better than he expected. It was difficult for him to read her face, her expression unchanging as she glanced from the table to her hand, rarely looking straight at him. He raised his cup to his lips, blowing the steam over the rim.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he piped up, “I’m always in some kind of trouble. You get used to it, looking over your shoulder. Makes life exciting.”

“Mm, I’d prefer less excitement.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that for a second. Or you wouldn’t have invited a stranger up to your apartment two days in a row. Drinking, gambling… you’re not the little church mouse you’d like to pretend you are.”

“You going to bet, or what?”

They were an even match, neck-and-neck the whole time as caps went from one side to the other. The teapot ran out, but neither of them cared, each of them focused on getting the better of the other. The wind rattled the windows as the storm grew more and more intense. He took a peek outside.

“It’s the end of the world,” he chuckled.

The lights dimmed, glowed bright, then fizzled out all at once, plunging them into darkness. The music sputtered out into silence.

Angel went to stand, feeling her way to the door of the kitchen. Murdoc banged his knee on the table, grunting as he tried to navigate his way behind her.

A candle flickered a dim light in the darkness as she returned, nearly walking right into him. He was so close in the firelight that she could see the light reflect flat against his red eye. Her breath made the flame shudder.

"Just when I was winning," she muttered.

He snorted, not backing away.

"Oh, is that what you think?"

"Hmph, I know you think you're the best liar in the world. But you're not the first con-man I've ever met."

"Con-man," he said in a low purr. "You really shouldn't stroke my ego, for your sake. It's already big enough."

She looked down, her heart squeezing tight.

"Well, it doesn't seem fair to call a winner, since we couldn't finish playing." She glanced up at him. "Out of curiosity, what was your favor going to be?"

He laughed in his chest. He reached out, snuffing the candle out between his fingers, sealing the both of them in darkness.

She felt the tips of his fingers brush along the line of her jaw, pulling her close to him. His lips just barely moved against hers as he spoke in a low, raspy voice.

"I was going to ask you not to turn me out into the rain tonight."

Angel shuddered, her lips prickling where he'd left his words. She clutched both hands on the candle to keep them to herself, her body flushing with heat as she struggled to keep herself under control.

"Reasonable," she managed. "If not somewhat inappropriate."

His hot breath traced along her cheek as he moved to whisper into her ear.

"Is that so? Why? Did you want to do something inappropriate?"

It took everything in her to stay still, turning her head to face him in the shadow. Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, the faint moonlight that poured in through the amber window casting him in a ghostly glow.

"I think you're trying to get the better of me."

"Never," he breathed. "I'm under no illusion that I'm the one with power between the two of us."

"You're very forward."

"Ah, and you're not. You're very closed-up. A tiger in a cage." His nails brushed along her temple as he slid her hair behind her ear. "Would it kill you to let that wildcat out?"

Her head swam, her mouth moving on its own, words coming out that she had no intention of saying.

"Assuming you could handle a beast like that."

Murdoc's ripple of a laugh sent her buckling, his breath tickling her cheek.

"Ah, there she is." He let out a low grunt. "Well, what would your answer have been if I'd won?"

Angel wrestled the question in her mind, her body trying to betray her better judgement, whose voice grew quiet in the darkness with him breathing against her.

"It would have depended."

"On?"

"Your ability to behave yourself."

His hand cupped her face, drawing her to him, his lower lip brushing hers as he spoke.

"Oh, you have my word that I'd never do anything you told me not to. For instance, if you told me to sit down in that chair with my hands folded all night, I would. If you told me to leave and walk home in the rain, I would. If you told me to mind my distance right now…" His voice was a breath. "I would. All you have to do is ask. You'll find I can be incredibly agreeable."

A tiny sigh left her, which didn't escape his notice for a second.

"Does this routine ever work for you?"

"I don't usually have to try this hard," he said with a snort.

She struggled with herself, weighing her options like a scale.

"I'll let you stay, but," she added quickly, "on a condition."

"I'm not surprised."

She pushed against his chest, pulling away though it killed her to do it.

"You have to stay out here."

His thumbs rubbed against her arms, but he didn't move back in.

"Alright," he said in a low voice.

Angel wrapped herself up in her dressing gown, laying her clothes over the back of her vanity chair as she glanced at the closed door of her room, him on the other side. Her insides knotted up tight.

She cracked the bedroom door open, glad for the darkness as her face flushed hot. He looked at her in the shadow, his undershirt pulled halfway off his body. She gripped the doorframe.

"You… can come in. It's cold, the window lets the wind through."

His hands fell away from his shirt, the glow of the moon lighting him from behind like a halo. She clutched her gown tight.

"But if you try something, I'll break your fingers."

"Haha, oh, I believe you."

She turned, slipping back into her room without another word, Murdoc following behind. The candles on her vanity reflected in the mirror, bathing the room in warm, flickering light. He shut the door behind him. Angel hovered on the other side of the bed, her hands clutched hard on the tie of her gown.

"I… don't want you wearing your dirty clothes in my bed." She nodded to the chair in front of the vanity where her own clothes laid. "You can put them there."

His fingers went back to pulling off his shirt and Angel turned away.

"You can look."

She tensed up.

"I very well know I can."

She kept her arms knotted together, every muscle in her body drawing up tight. But her eyes betrayed her, and without realizing it they wandered back to him as his shirt slid from his body. He hadn't been lying, he did actually have more tattoos; one on his shoulder of an upside-down cross, and another of a pentagram on his chest. She wet her dry lips as he unclipped his suspenders from his trousers. She snorted, tossing her head as her eyes desperately focused on a tiny patch of the wall.

"You really do like to play at looking like a devil."

His laugh sent a shiver through her, liquid like ink in the dark.

"Does that scare you?"

She rounded on him, her lips pulled into a thin line.

"Of course not. I'm not a church girl or a nun. I'm not a fast believer in God, anyways, and I'm much more leery of people than the Devil."

Murdoc watched her as his hands went for the button of his pants and Angel couldn't keep her gaze on him anymore, her eyes flicking away.

He hesitated, then stepped out of his pants and laid them over the chair alongside his garters and socks that he stripped off as well, with Angel turned to face the wall, her hand clutching the satin of her dressing gown. She felt him come up behind her.

"Hm, maybe you are a church mouse," he said with a teasing tone, leaning in over her shoulder. "Your confidence seems to have left you."

She glanced back, looking him in the face, and his smile slipped away.

"You sure look afraid."

"Not of you," she snapped. "I'm not scared of you. You're slick, but you're no brute."

He nodded slowly, coming up close to place his hands on her arms, his chest flush against her back. He brushed the hair from the back of her neck and kissed her lightly, his breath running over her skin. A tiny sigh left her, and she brought her hand to her mouth.

"I can't." He leaned back as she shook her head. "I can't… do what it is you want me to do."

"What is it that you think I want you to do?"

She whipped around, giving him a stern look. Her good humor was well gone.

"Don't play with me like I'm a child. You know what I mean."

Murdoc tilted his head to the side, looking down at the floor.

"I told you, I'm very agreeable. Your rules, in every possible capacity. I won't take more from you than you're willing to give. I might be a con-man, but I know better than to push girls. I like my eyes inside my head where they are."

She searched his face, looking for something she couldn't find. He leaned in, stroking her soft lips with the pad of his thumb.

"I'm not the kind of man that just takes what he wants, there's no fun in that. That'd be like shooting a tied-up beast and calling it hunting. I just want you to know where I stand, in case you'd like to have a go at me."

She flushed hard, gripping her arms.

"Pfft, you're a real ladies man, aren't you?"

He snorted.

"The eye turns away more than you'd think, even with the rest of my charms."

She reached up, cautiously brushing her fingertips along the raised, pitted skin from his cheek to his eye. He went still, watching her. Angel's fingers grazed his jaw, shaking as they ran down his neck. She stared at the pentagram drawn into him.

“You’re not going to burst into flame.”

"That's not what I'm worried about."

He backed away, sitting down on the edge of the bed, looking up at her. Angel stood still, then went over to the candles, blowing them out one at a time until all the light that was left in the room sat in a little votive in her hand, flickering as she carried it to the bedside table. She peeled back the covers, motioning for him to move over. He scrambled back, watching her. She pulled at the tie of her dressing gown, fighting with herself as she slid out of it, leaving her standing in her thin, short ivory slip, with only her briefs on underneath. The satin clung to her body, outlining everything underneath as if she were nude. She shuddered in the cold, tensing.

"It's rude to gawk like that," she muttered, his mouth hanging open and his eyes locked on her.

"Not gawking, admiring."

"I'm not a painting," she said, climbing into the bed beside him.

"Still a work of art. Like Venus in her shell."

She could feel her face burning in the dim light as he leaned in over her on his hands, an inch away. The scent of him was overwhelming, some strange mix of cigarette smoke, liquor, musk, and sweat, but not unpleasant. A carnal smell that made her lock up. Facing him only in his briefs made everything incredibly real, and time was glacial as he drew close.

Angel shifted, trying to at least keep up the appearance of seeming unphased.

"I told you, I don't like empty compliments. I'm not going to fawn all over you just because you've got an arsenal of pretty words that you use on every woman."

"You're so harsh," he whispered, hovering over her. "But it's not like I don't deserve it. You're right, I could say that to anyone. Would you like something that's just for you, _maja_?"

She laid down as he climbed on top of her, her chest growing tight. It was as if her body was moving on its own. It was dangerous waters she was wading in, and she was looking the shark right in the eye and every inch she gave him was blood in the water. The veneer of aloofness in her voice was wearing thin.

"Feh, you go to a museum once and memorize your lines for the girls?"

He laughed in the dark, his hands wrapping around her shoulders.

"No lines for you. I'm improvising."

He rolled onto his back, pulling her into his lap, his hands on her thighs as she sat up. A jolt ran through her. She could feel him hard against her through his briefs. It made her back arch and her legs open just an inch wider to feel him. Her lips parted, eyes half-lidded as he stroked her thighs. A long, low groan rattled out of him, his hips pressing into her.

"See? I told you I'm not the one with the power, here. I'm completely at your mercy."

For a moment, words abandoned her, her body desperate to move against him as he twitched under her.

She'd never been on top of a man. In fact, Billy was the only man she'd ever slept with, and it wasn't something she enjoyed thinking about. He wasn't one for fooling around, and always got right to the point, eager to get her on her back. It was rough and fast and he always seemed to get much more out of it than she did. It always left her empty and sore. She assumed that was all any man wanted, and seeing a new face staring down at her doing the same thing wasn't a thought she relished.

But the sight of Murdoc sprawled out under her with that shit-eating grin pulled across his face and his hands grabbing her thighs made her downright feral with lust. She shifted her hips, the length of him sliding across her as she moved. She froze still, her toes curling.

"I'd be an idiot to sleep with you," she breathed. "I just met you."

"It's a modern era. You've got the freedom of choice." He pulled his hands back, raising them palms-up, leaving himself completely open. "No tricks, nothing slick. I'm here if you want me, and you can put me away if you don't."

Angel twisted inside herself. He was rakishly gorgeous, his hair falling out of his face and his red eye piercing into her in the gold light. It buckled her. Her hands found their way to his hips, but she didn't dare move her body. Every motion dragged him against her with a pressure that was agonizing and impossible to ignore.

"You're unbearable," she managed, shaking her head though her body quaked with effort to keep herself from rutting up against him. "I'm not making another stupid mistake."

"Another?"

She shut her lips tight, looking away.

"Sorry if that's disappointing to you," she muttered.

"Ah, you've got the wrong idea, Angie. I'm no virginal maid and I certainly don't expect you to be either. That sort of thing doesn't matter to me. But, I'd like to not be considered a mistake."

"I… that sounded meaner than I meant." She crawled in her skin. "It would be a mistake for me to jump into bed with a man I've known for a few days. No matter who that man is."

He watched her, his hands coming back to stroke her thighs.

"Who am I?"

A tiny grin cracked her lips.

"A louse. A nuisance. A con-man. What else have I called you?"

He pinched her cheek at the corner of her grin and she sucked in a gasp as he moved under her.

"I believe you called me a man with no decorum."

"Mm, that's right."

"You're smiling," he teased.

"Because I'm laughing at you."

"At, with, same thing. I'll take it."

The pad of his thumb ran over her bottom lip, going slick against her mouth. It sent shivers rippling through her.

"I'd rather have you laughing at me than looking like you're going to cry."

"I'm not going to cry," she said defensively. "You think I'd shed a tear over not bedding you? You're awfully full of yourself."

"Am I?"

He bucked up against her, drawing a sharp breath out of her as her back arched. She rocked her hips into him, grabbing onto his shoulders.

"Hm, I don't know about that. Seems like you're that one that wants to be full of me."

A hot flash of lust and anger pulsed through her. Her thighs tightened around him as she forced herself to stay still.

"You're vuglar."

"I think you like it. I can be much worse."

"I don't doubt that. Can't say I care for it."

"Hnn, your voice is giving you away."

"How so?"

His hands cupped her hips, a long, low laugh rumbling out of him that made her want to slap him and take him all at once.

"You can always tell when someone wants to fuck." The word forced a grunt out of her, only adding to the smile that split his face. "Their voice gets all husky and deep, and they get this glazed, hundred-yard stare, just like that. You can just tell they're slipping by looking at them."

Her face burned. Every word that came out of his mouth was boorish and crude, and she found, to her disgust, that she didn't want him to stop.

"You've got a lot of nerve, talking to me like that and expecting I won't get mad."

His hand slid up her back, grasping onto the silky slip.

"Mm, my rudeness didn't seem to deter you from bringing me into your bed."

Her lips curled back in a sneer, just as much from anger as restraint. He reached up, pinching at the edge of her mouth with a parted smile, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

"Oh, love, if I really thought you hated it, I wouldn't keep pushing my luck. I've still got all the teeth I came in here with, so, there must be something about my rude churlishness that you fancy."

"It's stupidity."

"Mine or yours?"

"Mine," she spat. "I should have knocked your teeth in."

"You're so tense, Angie. I don't think you're the strict, straight-laced girl you play at being. What's the act for?"

"To maintain some shred of my decency."

"Decency?"

He arched his hips, sliding himself against her, taking in the strained look on her face as she tried to bite back a moan.

"You don't seem all that decent to me. I think underneath that painted face you're just as foul as I am."

She scoffed.

"You think you can just goad me into it?"

He chuckled, wriggling under her.

"I don't think there's anyone alive that could make you do something you don't want to. You invited me in, you let me stay, you brought me into your room, you watched me undress and told me to get in your bed, and you're on top of me now, doing something incredibly _indecent_. Seems like you're making your own choices. I'm just along for the ride."

"Maybe I _should_ throw you out in the rain."

"Go ahead," he said, pressing into her with a groan.

"A-ah."

"You're more than welcome to do anything you want to me. I won't put up a fight."

Restraint and reason were quickly slipping, and she could feel her senses dissolve, her mouth open in an uncomely gape, breaths coming in shaking gasps.

"You're a dog," she stuttered, her hips rocking into his lap as his hand pressed against the small of her back. He grunted, his eyes locked on hers as he thrusted up into her.

"I don't fuck like one."

Her legs splayed apart with a moan as she quickly started to lose herself, unraveling more and more with every word out of his mouth. Even through their clothes, the feeling of him made her wild with desire.

His hands gripped onto her hips, pulling her down into him, his mouth opened wide with loud, obscene groans that drove her insane. He was looking right at her, falling apart just as much as she was. He hid nothing. He wasn't quiet, he wasn't decent. And she didn't want him to be.

Something snapped in her, pulling her up to the surface of her senses for a gasp of air and she managed to get a grip on herself for just one second.

"S-stop."

He froze in place, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. She shook with effort, gritting her teeth.

"Please. No more."

Murdoc grasped at her back, his eyes screwed up tight to hold himself back.

"Aughhh... Alright, love, alright," he breathed, grunting. "Told you, I'm not going to do anything you don't want."

"Me wanting to is the problem," she hissed through clenched teeth.

"Alright," he said again as she pulled back, looking up at her.

His face killed her, watching her with his lips parted and his eyes half-lidded with lust, his hands sliding down her thighs to pull her slip back down over her bare legs. Now she knew what he meant by being able to tell.

"Murdoc."

"Huh?"

"...I'm sorry."

Now she did look like she was about to cry.

She flinched, his hand coming up to rest on her cheek.

“Unless you decide to pack up and ditch me before we even start working together, I’m not going anywhere. All you’ve got to do is ask. There's plenty I'd like to let you do to me..”

She nodded, trying to collect herself with a quick breath in.

Angel rolled onto her side, facing away from him, gathering up the covers around her neck and used every ounce of self-control she still had to clench her thighs together and keep her hands to herself. She repeated every reason she couldn’t in her head, a mantra of restraint. She felt Murdoc settle down beside her, and she clutched the blanket tighter. It was so cold without him.

They both laid awake, staring at the walls as the storm rolled overhead into the early hours of the morning.


	5. Chapter 5

The lights were back on when he woke with a start, shooting upright with his hands clutched on the covers as he tried to remember where he was. Angel looked up at him from her vanity, already in her day clothes—a collared green and white striped cotton dress that was infinitely more modest than her club clothes.

“Good morning.”

Murdoc grunted, rubbing his face.

“What time is it?” he mumbled.

“It’s eight.”

He stretched to pop his back, expecting the rip of pain that greeted him every morning, but Angel’s bed was more comfortable than what he was used to, and the flare of joint pain was just a little less agonizing.

“What are you doing dressed already? You don’t work in the day.”

"I have to be somewhere."

He leaned his head in his hand, watching her pull on her long socks, eager for the quick look at her bare legs as she pulled the hem of her dress up.

"I'll walk with you."

"No," she said quickly. "No… you can stay as long as you want to, I just have to go."

Being told “no” piqued his interest. He'd only offered as an empty courtesy, expecting a polite refusal, but not such a quick rebuff. He watched her cross the room closely while she sorted through her jewelry box.

"Here," she said, holding her hand out to him. In her palm was a key. "My spare. Just lock the door when you leave."

“Angie, my own key. I didn’t know you were so committed,” he teased.

"Don’t get excited. I expect it back later. I’ll see you."

Her gaze lingered on him as she hovered at the door before she pulled it closed quietly.

Murdoc gripped the key in his hand, hurrying over to the chair to pull his clothes on.

  
  


She didn't take the streetcar, of course, his luck wasn't that good. She walked, a fair enough distance that his knee began to ache in the morning air. He hung back just far enough not to be noticed, watching her closely. She stopped by a stand to buy flowers, picking through them carefully until one suited her, and she had the man wrap the stems in brown paper.

For a man, maybe? He doubted it with her attitude, and she didn't look particularly lovestruck. But his curiosity was only whetted with the gift. Family, then? She never mentioned a sister or a brother, never mentioned parents. She struck him as the independent type, not a doting daughter. What was left? A friend? But then why so early?

She walked until the city townhouses and shops began to fall away to green lawns and homes, where it was harder to follow her without being obvious. He backed up around the corner when she turned, lifting up the latch of a gate and slipping behind a fence. He hesitated, inching as close as he thought he could without being stopped. He'd come this far, he had to know, now. Wasn't like he had anything better to do, anyhow.

It was unusually balmy, after all that rain. Warm enough that when Angel came up to the front garden gate, she found her Aunt sitting in her chair outside. The plants in her little garden were budded with dew, late pink roses blooming along the walkway.

"Paola," she called, hurrying up the walk. "¿Cómo te va? How are you feeling?"

She smiled up at Angel, reaching up to take her hand.

"Fine, fine. You look beautiful in that dress, chiquita."

“Here, some flowers to replace last week’s.”

“What a lovely bunch you’ve brought,” she smiled, taking the little bouquet of monkshood, asters, and susans. She peered past her, chuckling. "And you brought a handsome man with you, too."

Angel spun around quick, locking onto Murdoc as he hovered at the front gate, going rigid at being spotted.

"What the—" She stormed over, growling under her breath. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

He struggled to find an excuse and came up empty, his usually sly demeanor gone.

"I'll admit, this is not where I thought you'd be going."

"Where the hell did you _think_ I'd be going?! Did you follow me here?"

"You were so cryptic when you left! With all that talk last night about being in trouble with your old man, I was… curious."

"Well, you can be curious about how you're going to get home, because you're leaving right—"

"Angelita, aren't you going to invite him in?" Paola called.

Murdoc's grin reappeared and she wanted to slap him.

"Yeah, Angelita, aren't you going to invite me in?"

She struggled, her hands gripping into claws.

"If you say _one_ indecent thing to her, I'm going to scratch your eyes out."

He raised his hands up.

"Best behavior."

"You better," she spat, opening the gate.

Paola leaned forward in her chair, motioning him over, the bouquet laying in her lap. She grasped his hand in hers weakly, patting his arm.

"Hola, ¿cómo está usted?"

Angel came up behind him.

"He doesn't speak Spanish, tía."

Murdoc bent down, placing his hand on hers.

"Buenas días. Estoy bien, ¿y usted?"

She spun around fast, her jaw nearly hitting the ground.

"Oh, Angelita, a gentleman," she said with a laugh.

"Isn't he, though," she said through her clenched teeth, staring at him.

"¿Cuál es su nombre?"

"Me llamo es Murdoc."

"Murdoc, what a nice, strong name. An Irish name."

Paola reached up, her fingers touching the pink ridges of the scar around his red eye.

"Oh, mijo, are you alright?"

Angel watched him closely as he smiled down at her.

"Just fine, old battle wound."

Paola clung to his sleeve as she pulled herself up out of the chair, hobbling toward the front door. She half leaned half pulled on his arm, taking shuffling steps inside.

"Come in, I'll get you something to drink.."

He shrugged at Angel, walking along beside the old woman.

She guided him into the kitchen, gesturing at the table for him to sit down.

"Mija, take his coat, please."

Angel came up behind him fast and Murdoc slid away.

"Ah-ha-ha, uh, I've got it."

He slipped out of his coat and laid it over the back of the chair, glancing up at her. Angel hesitated, taking her own coat off and walking over to her Aunt, who was peering into the cabinets.

"Tía, you don't have to make him anything. He's not going to be staying long," she said, glaring back at him.

"It's fine! I need to stay on my feet. The doctor said it was good for me." She turned back to Murdoc, who was hovering beside the table, looking lost. "Mijo, could you do me a favor? I can't reach the light in my bedroom to change it, could you please?"

Angel leaned down to her, her hand resting on her shoulder.

"I'll do it."

"Let the man do it. You always work for me when you come, you relax."

She glanced up at Murdoc, smiling.

"Let the man do it," she repeated, raising her eyebrow at him. "Tía, is there anything else you need done?"

Angel grabbed the step-stool and led him up the stairs as he rolled up his sleeves. She opened the door to the bedroom, gesturing in. Murdoc glanced up at her, then took the ladder and set it up under the ceiling light. He cleared his throat.

"Uh… Angie, I'm um…"

She held out the new bulb to him, looking up. He grunted, getting up on the step-stool.

"It's alright," she said, leaning up against the wall with her arms crossed.

He watched her, unscrewing the old bulb.

"You're my Aunt's servant for today, so I'd say we're even. Creep."

He snorted.

"This isn't the day I thought I'd be having," he mumbled.

Her eyes slid down from his arms, down his side, and she folded her arms tighter. He smirked at her.

"I know when I'm being ogled."

"You're imagining things."

"Scandalous, eyeing me up in your Aunt's house. Can't you control yourself?"

She forced her eyes to the floor.

"Where the hell did you learn to speak Spanish?"

"I'm a well-traveled man," he said with a laugh.

She wrestled with what she wanted to say, glaring at the floorboards.

"How did… how did you learn?"

He lowered his arms, holding the old bulb in his hand. Her lips tensed.

"I've been trying to learn for years. My Dad never taught me much, and he… My Aunt tries but it's hard to understand her." She twisted her hands around her arms. "So… how did you learn?"

"Prison, in Mexico."

She snapped up to look at him as he looked back with a tiny smile.

"Kinda forces you to figure it out. They do good tattoo work down there, though. So I did get a couple things out of it."

Angel didn't know if he was joking or being serious, but his smile was weak and thin and she didn't want to press the subject.

“Where’s she from?”

“Oaxaca.”

“Ah, I passed through there. Nice place. I miss the mezcal. Her English is good.”

“She’s the smartest woman I ever met.”

“Is she as smart-mouthed as you?” he laughed.

“I got it from somewhere.”

She grabbed up the stool as he stepped down, clicking it shut.

"Alright, Butch Cassidy, let's get started on the rest."

"You've unclogged a sink, haven't you?"

Murdoc was laid out flat on his back, examining the pipe under the sink like he was about to perform surgery. A nervous laugh trickled out of him.

"Of course I have."

"Really? Because you're holding a hammer."

He glanced back at her and put it down.

"Ah, well, I've never done a sink like this before. The ones back home are different."

"Oh, good Lord." She kicked his shoe. "Get out, let me do it. I don't need you destroying Paola's plumbing."

He scooted out, not looking at her as she rolled the sleeves of her dress up. She grabbed up the wrench and slid under the pipe, placing a pan underneath where she began to loosen it. His eyes flicked up to where her dress fell around her hips, the cotton forming along the curve of her body. He looked away casually as she shifted.

"You're quite the well-rounded woman."

"You have to be when you're on your own. Anyone that tells you otherwise is either trying to marry you, or marry you off."

"Hard to think that you're not spoken for. Nothing's more charming than a girl who knows how to use her tools, heh-heh."

"Well, when you're taller than a good number of men, your options are hamstrung from the start. Throw in a brain and a mouth, and you've got the perfect unmarriable girl. I'm twenty-seven and I'm not getting younger, and not many men want a bride that's been passed around already when there's younger, fresher options." She gave a harsh pull and the bend of the pipe came free in her hand. "So… yes, I'm handy around the house."

"Harsh words," he snorted. "You're not pitching yourself well. I could ask around to see if I know any bachelors looking for a handy, aging Amazon with a smart mouth?"

She stuck her finger into the pipe, grimacing as old water dribbled out into the pan.

"If you think I want your pity about being unwed, you can stow it. I don't care much what men want or think, and I can't be bothered to seek out an arrangement with such unbalanced benefits."

"Oh, but what about screaming little brats?" he snickered, poking her navel.

She jerked, nearly hitting her head off the pipe.

"If I wanted children, Bill would have been much happier." She stopped, hesitating before setting the piece down as dirty water drained into the pot. "Being a wife or mother doesn't suit me. I'd rather be a plumber," she muttered.

"And leave me high and dry?"

"I do hope you mean your band, because you're sorely out of luck on the other two fronts."

"Oh, Angie, I'm not worried about making anyone a mother. You see, I've already been removed out of that particular equation if you understand my meaning. And, uh… you've likely guessed I'm not the marrying type. I'm more the… wandering mysterious musician type."

"Congratulations. At least one of us is happy with the hand they've been dealt."

His hands wrapped around the backs of her calves, gently pulling her out from under the sink. Her whole face burned red, her dress billowing out against the floor as he looked down at her. He leaned his chin on her knee, his face soft.

"I think you're incredibly hard on yourself."

"I think you're being extremely presumptuous about our physical boundaries," she managed.

"I think that you could certainly injure me beyond recognition if you really thought that."

The wrench was still in her hand as she layed on the floor. Angel shivered when he leaned down over her, brushing the hair out of her face, the warmth of his body pressing up close to her.

"What _would_ make you happy, Angie? What do you want out of life? Fame? Fortune?"

"I don't have much interest in either."

"Hmph, you're an odd bird. Intellectual pursuits, maybe?"

"Listen, Plato, if I had my way, I'd just want to live how I like without being bothered too much."

"That's boring."

"I'm a boring girl."

He scoffed.

"That's simply not true. There must be something you want? Oh, I know! I could teach you some Spanish, bomboncita. Call it a signing bonus," he added with a smirk, leaning in close and slipping a hand under her to cradle the curve of her back.

A little sound slipped out of her mouth, one that made her flush and made him chuckle in his throat.

"Did I find something you'd like?"

A wet lump slopped out of the pipe and into the pan, making them both freeze. Angel leaned over, glancing in.

"Well, Paola dropped another ring down the drain again." She wriggled back under the sink, forcing him to pull back. "I guess being a plumber is my calling."

"You're making it extremely difficult not to make jokes."

"Maybe that's my purpose in life—making your life harder."

"You're succeeding so far."

"Then my life's work is paying off."

  
  


Paola tended a boiling kettle on the stove when the both of them came back down the stairs. She rushed over to Murdoc as Angel put the step-stool away and smoothed down her dress self-consciously when her Aunt’s back was turned. She pulled him over to the table, making him sit down.

"I hope it wasn't too much trouble."

"He took care of everything."

Murdoc eyed her as she crossed the room to the stove, his gaze lingering on her back. Paola had two little cups set out on saucers, filled with steaming hot chocolate made with the special squares Paola bought from her grocer when she felt strong enough to wander out on her own, which was becoming more and more infrequently, nowadays.

"Here, this is for your boyfriend."

Her face flushed as she took the cup from her.

"He's not my boyfriend, tía. He's…"

She didn't even know what to call him.

"I'm a colleague," he piped up, glancing over at Angel to give her a sly wink as she set the cup in front of him.

"Oh, how nice! You didn't tell me you got a new job! Angelita was always a smart girl, even when she was little." She shuffled over, placing the other cup down for Angel. "Are you a musician, too?"

"Guilty," he said with a half-laugh.

"That's wonderful." She patted his arm. "Such a kind man. But you’re so small, you need to eat more.”

Angel snorted, sitting down.

“I think he’s a little old for that to help.”

He shot her a look behind Paola’s back that made her smirk. She stuck out her tongue, and he stuck his long one right back, straightening up as the old woman glanced over at him.

“Oh, he’s younger than me, so he’s got some time left, haha.”

Paola hobbled to her own seat, waving away Angel’s attempts to help. 

“Oh, chiquita! Diego came by yesterday with Malena and Benito. Benito is already so tall, I think he’ll be as tall as you.”

“Is that so? Let’s hope Malena isn’t.”

She reached over and placed a thin hand on hers.

“Angelita, there isn’t anything wrong with your height. You’re strong like your father, you should be proud. And you should spend more time with your niece and nephew, the children are growing up fast. They’ll have children of their own sooner than you think.”

She made a small noise under her breath, raising the cup to her lips.

Angel stole a glance over at Murdoc. He was fondling the handle of his cup, blowing the steam across the top, but he wasn't drinking. It was like he was using it to hide his anxious-looking face.

"Murdoc,” Paola called. His name was softer in her accent, he barely recognized it as his. “Do you visit your family often?”

He was tense, but he tried to smooth himself out with a laugh.

“Ah, no. Can’t say I do.”

“A shame, you seem like a dutiful son.”

A strangled sound left Angel as she choked back a cackle, coughing on her drink.

He got to his feet all of a sudden, looking panicked and pale.

“I uh… lovely visit, but I’ve got to get going. Gracias, doña Paola. Fue un placer hablar con usted.”

Paola nodded slowly, watching him walk to the door.

“Gracias, mijo. Come visit again sometime. Pórtate bien.”

He gave her a tiny strained smile and a nod, and disappeared out the open door.

Angel gaped, glancing from the doorway to her Aunt.

“Go ahead, chiquita. I’ll still be here later.”

  
  


He was standing by the garden gate, furiously trying to light a cigarette when Angel came out.

“You look happy,” she snorted, coming up alongside him.

He blew out a long stream of smoke, his eyes trained on the garden, not looking at her.

"I'm, uh… not used to this level of domesticity."

"Paola definitely fills the doting old Aunt role well."

He shook his head.

“Don’t think I’d ever fit in well with normal people, makes my skin itch. Too steady, too quiet. Makes me nervous.”

She sat on the banister beside him, looking down at her shoes.

“Now you know why I’m not a housewife.”

Murdoc glanced up at her, his cigarette slipped into the gap of his missing tooth. He gave a tiny smirk.

“Good thing, or I’d be out a singer. Husbands don’t like me. Though usually they only see me going out the back door.”

That earned a little laugh from her.

“You’re an ass.”

“Oi! Watch your mouth, sailor.”

They looked out over the garden, the mild wind shaking the roses in the soft breeze.

“This is why you can’t leave, hm?”

“Paola’s got a son, Diego, and he and his wife and kids come by. But... I’m afraid if I leave her too long, she might go and I’d never see her again. I think it’s more for me than for her.”

“You know I’m not staying forever,” he said in a low voice.

She glanced over at him, gripping the gate.

“I know. It’s one thing to leave and come back. It’s another to set up someplace else entirely. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m not keeping that apartment to come back to if your band's a bust,” she said, clicking her tongue. “I don’t trust you that much to pick up and move.”

“I don’t live anywhere, love. Don’t stay in one place long, either.”

“What’s your plan, then?”  
He leaned beside her, looking out over the street.

“Stick around here a bit, then go on to Boston to pick up my drummer. Then see what I can do to book us.”

“A drummer, a singer, and a piano player? That’s your band?”

“I’ve got two singers and two piano players,” he chuckled. “Stu sings, and he plays, too. Better than me, I hate to admit, and don't ever tell him I said so. He’s the technical one, got a formal education and everything. I stole him away from a very wealthy family situation. He was wasting away like a bird in a gilded cage. Too bad he didn't come with any money of his own, though. I’m only playing piano until I can track down another double bass. Mine, uh… well, it’s out of my possession, let’s just say that. A replacement isn't cheap. Mix that all together and we’ve almost got a full jazz outfit. A horn or sax player would be good to track down,” he added.

"So you lied to me."

He glanced over at her, eyes wary.

"You said you were a piano player."

He relaxed a bit.

"Ah, well it wasn't a lie. I'm _currently_ a piano player. Why, you have something against bass?"

"No, I might've taken you more seriously. Every man thinks they can play piano."

"Still convinced you."

"That's true," she admitted.

She tapped her shoes together, looking down at them.

“Bass and piano, what a renaissance man.”

“Bass, piano, _and_ cello. I’ve got it all, what can I say?”

Angel snorted.

“Well, I’ll be here till you figure it out. Not like I’ve got much else to do.”

He glanced over at her, stamping out his cigarette.

“Oh, love, if you’re going to hitch your wagon up to this group, you’re doing some legwork. We're our own little circus caravan.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in.

“Are you… saying you want me to come to Boston with you?”

“Me and Stu. I’ve had it traveling alone with him, I might murder him if I have to shack up in one more hotel with no one else to talk to than the brainless-wonder.” He slipped the butt back into the carton. “Besides, that way I’ll know you’re serious.”

She scoffed.

“Are you trying to tell me you think _I’m_ the one that’ll split?”

“You don’t seem like the type I should trust,” he chuckled. “You work in an elicit club, for god sakes. You’re almost a criminal by association!”

She hushed him, glancing back to the front door.

“Paola doesn’t know that.”

A loud laugh burst out of him.

“What the hell does she think you’re doing?”

She groaned, hiding her face in her hand.

“She thinks I’m in a girl’s choir.”

She had to hush him again as he choked on his own laughter, pounding his chest.

“Shut it!”


	6. Chapter 6

A week passed after he tailed her to her Aunt’s house, and Murdoc seemed to be in the wind. He said he had some business to take care of, keeping it vague, and that he’d come by when he was done.

Part of her was relieved. She'd gotten too close too fast and some distance would certainly set her straight, like a splash of cold water to the face. She went back to her usual routine, diligently going about her chores and errands during the day undisturbed, and working the club at night like always.

But something felt different now. 

Her drink after work had always been a little refuge, a life raft at sea when she could be a small part of the crowd without being consumed by it. She took time to talk with Fritz, and consoled Gina when she came crawling back to the club after running off, bawling into Angel's lap about how men are devils.

But all of it felt… distant. She would think of something to say to him and turn only to realize she was alone. It unsettled her. She'd only known him a few days but there was something about the ease of him that made it feel as if he was a long-time acquaintance. His presence opened her lips and clenched her chest.

And she couldn't stop thinking about what happened the night of the storm. The night of their little "game". For a few days after, she laboriously pushed the thoughts away and refused to let herself get caught up in it. But it came creeping back all the same, and when she lied in bed she couldn't keep the image of him out of her head. Her body flushed hot and she remembered how he felt under her. The warmth of his body, the soft tone of his voice, the curve of his hips, and the hard length of his between her thighs. And that eye, watching her without seeing. It was torturous.

All of that made her think that she shouldn't see him again. Maybe just tell him the deal was off, that she couldn't go with him.

But quietly, she wondered if he'd ever come back at all. And that made her more nervous than anything else.

  
  


There was a cold breeze on the October air when he came, his collar turned up against the wind in the doorway. Casual, as if he’d never left.

"I'm surprised to see you're still here," she said, trying to cool the excitement that burst in her chest when she laid eyes on him.

He cracked a grin, showing off his missing tooth.

"Oh, did you miss me, love? You could've called."

"I've been just fine, just like I have been all the years before you."

"Boring years."

She gripped her arms, trying to reel herself in.

"I'm heading to work, you caught me on my way out."

"Then I'll walk you there."

She scoffed. But she didn't refuse.

"Rick came by," she said, leaning against the frame.

"That so?"

"He said ' _Don't know what in the hell you did'_ , but he wants ' _you two to come do it again'_ another night."

"I don't like repeat performances," he said with a wide smirk. "Gets stale in the same place. No offense to a cabaret girl."

"I know how many strips of wallpaper are plastered up in that place. I get it."

"Won't have to stay in one place after everything's sorted."

"Right, the imaginary band I keep hearing about," she sighed, heading up the stairs for her coat.

"Easy, easy, that's what I'm here about," he called up after her. "We're going to Boston in two weeks."

She wrapped her neck tight with a scarf and pulled her hat on, looking down at him.

"That was fast."

"I'm quick."

He offered his arm to her and she rolled her eyes, but her elbow hooked around his by itself.

"You got the tickets?"

"Ah, well, not yet."

"Then how do you know we're going?"

"Because I said we are."

She stared at him.

"You don't have the cash for it, do you?"

"Cash on-hand? Not exactly. But I will."

"Christ alive, you really haven't got any money at all, have you?"

"Told you, starting this band up isn't cheap," he said with a strained smile.

She sighed, rolling her eyes.

"I can pay for my own ticket. That seems fair. But don't expect me to pay for the both of you. I'm not Gina, I don't dole out endlessly."

"How's that you have extra money to sling around?"

She glanced back at him, her jaw tight.

"I know what you make, I can't imagine you have much savings at all, let alone to pay your rent and expenses."

Angel forced herself to look away, keeping her eyes forward. There was certain information she knew she should keep from him, though his inviting face made it difficult for her to keep her trap shut. There was something about him that just eased words out of her. It was comforting, and immensely irritating.

"Don't worry about me," she muttered. "You should be more worried about paying that hotel bill of yours. You've been here a while."

"Well, don't worry about _that_ ," he dismissed, waving his hand. "That's all sorted."

She gave him a long look but let it drop. She probably didn't want to know.

As they went, she realized that he was less guiding her and more leaning on her, his limp noticeable as they went. She wondered if he'd been doing it the whole time and she never noticed, or if it was bothering him more than normal. She guessed, though, that she didn't know _what_ normal was for him.

"So, when are you going to invite me up again for our consolation game?"

Her whole body went tense and she gripped his arm tight.

"Our poker game?"

"Sure, if you'd like to start there," he laughed. "I'd still like a shot at that favor."

Angel squirmed in her skin, forcing herself to shoot him down as quickly as possible so she had no chance to say something else.

"Just because I kill some time with you doesn't mean you've won me over with any charms. Don't assume you'll be coming up again anytime soon."

His laugh was a rich sound in his throat as he shoved his free hand into his coat pocket.

"What do I have to do? Take you out, buy you a corsage, dance the Charleston? You're a hard egg to crack."

"No, you're just used to easy women. Still just a drugstore cowboy looking to catch flies with that open mouth of yours."

"Ouch," he hissed, hurrying alongside her.

"I already said I'd join this ridiculous band of yours, I never said I'd be your girl."

"Not asking you to be."

"Oh, just right to the point, then? You just want to slip into my bed and right back out, is that it?"

When she turned to him, he was already looking right at her. It made her uneasy.

"You don't want a relationship. I don't want to be nailed down. You don't want children, I never could give you one. You're easily riled, and I'm the most frustrating person in the world. What better match could there be?"

"So it's just a business transaction to you, then?" she snorted.

"No, business is going to Boston. We're talking pure recreation."

Angel hesitated, glancing over at him.

"You're being presumptive about how much I like you."

"Oh, please, keeping up that maiden act after grinding against me like you did just makes you look sad."

"Could you button your yap?" she snapped, glancing around.

"What, afraid mother will hear?" he whispered mockingly.

"You're such an ass."

"And you're the most pleasant ray of sunshine I've ever met."

"You see, _that_ is what makes you an ass." She was bristling, resisting the urge to coil up and start an argument. She diffused the flame down to, "You don't even know me."

"I think I know more about you than most or any of your friends. Do you have any of those, by the way?" he added. "Because you only seem to kill time with me."

"I do, and there's no chance in hell I'd ever let your paths cross. And I very much doubt that you know much of anything of significance about me."

He pursed his lips, looking up at the greying sky.

"Well, let's see… I know that despite being a frustratingly private person, you invited a complete stranger into your home when you live alone. So, right off the bat, you're a repressed risk-taker desperate for human interaction. But, you've been taken for a ride before, so you can't come off too eager. You're extremely sentimental, but act prickly so no one gets too close. But underneath it all, you're just waiting for the chance to go completely mad after playing good girl so long." He looked over at her. "Is that enough, or do you need more?"

"That's…"

She couldn't think of anything to say, irritated and embarrassed at being pinned to the wall, by him of all people.

"It's okay, pet, you can tell me I'm right. My ego is very large, it needs a stroke more often than most."

"I don't need an armchair philosopher trying to weasel into my head," she muttered. "And that is _not_ an invitation to make a smart remark."

He was stopped short by her eyes—intense, cutting, sharp and focused.

"I'm not going to be another city girl you pin down for an easy night. I'm not a thing for you to use."

"Not my intention. I don't visit city girls twice in the same week. You're a business partner before anything else. You're an investment that I intend to have pay off. Hope that makes you feel special."

"It does not."

She slowly unclenched, feeling embarrassed by her outburst, though she knew she wasn't wrong in what she'd said.

"You can't blame me for needing to set that out."

He let out a held breath in a shallow laugh.

"No, I suppose I can't. Well, I guess since I'm such a skirt-chasing letch, you'd have no interest in me inviting you to a little Halloween party."

She balked, letting out a disbelieving little snicker.

"I can't even imagine what sort of party it would be if you were invited."

"An innocent one, love. Bobbing for apples, and the sort. Though I'm sure we could find a spot for doing some bobbing of our own, but judging by your sour face—"

She gave him a light shove and he stumbled back, gripping onto her arm to steady himself.

"God, you're so violent!" he laughed. "Ah, Stuart was the one cordially invited, I'm his second. And you're my second."

"I don't think that's how invitations work."

"Of course it is. How would I get into a party otherwise?" he snorted, tapping his blind eye and wiggling his bad leg. "You've got a costume, right?"

"I suppose I'll get one," she mumbled, rolling her eyes.

"So you _are_ coming?"

Angel tensed, groaning.

"I guess I am. What better thing do I have to do on Halloween? Gina's already back at the club, Ricky gave her that night to make up for all the cash she wasted on her man. I guess otherwise I'd be sitting on my stoop waiting for children till the lanterns go out."

"To lure them into your gingerbread house?"

"I'm only a witch to you. Others find me quite pleasant, who treat me with good manners."

"Others are boring," he scoffed. "Maybe you should show up as a witch, let your true self out."

"And what will you be going as—a jester? Though that's not far from your everyday act."

"You know, the more difficult you are, the more I like you," he laughed. "Still talk like a grandmother from thirty years ago, though."

They were already at the alleyway that cut down to the back door to the club, part of her relieved, and part of her unwilling to give up the company she'd been starved for, though she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. She slipped her arm out of his, adjusting her scarf as she pulled back. He backed up, stuffing his hands in his pockets, his easy demeanor waning as he glanced away, face hardening.

"Well, enjoy your night. I uh… I'll be out of touch for a bit longer. Just hang tight, alright?"

"I'm sure I don't want to know," she said with a tiny smile. "You know where I'll be."

He nodded, looking far away.

"See you on the 31st, love."

She blinked as he turned around.

"Wait, I don't know where it'll be."

His lips curled up in a smirk.

"It's a surprise. I'll leave you the address."

She held her purse tight to her, watching him leave and wrestling with the butterflies ticking the inside of her ribs when she looked at him.

  
  


He hadn't lied. On Halloween morning she went down the steps to check her mail and one of his cards had been slipped through the slot, waiting for her on the floor. On the back, an address was scrawled on the back, a street name she didn't recognize. She'd have to ask for directions. Leave it to him to make things as inconvenient as possible.

Angel spent more time than she would have liked to admit turning in front of the mirror at the Black Cat as the day grew dark. She'd raided the dressing room, looking for anything she could wear. She'd never been to a Halloween party, but Gina was a showy girl and loved gaudy costumes, and she kept the more theatrical numbers at the club. But Gina was short and Angel was tall, and half the outfits—despite being costumes—looked as if she was putting on her childhood clothes. Nearly everything on the rack was laid out around the room, tried on and shucked off in frustration.

She pulled a black number on, losing hope, and looked at herself. It was supposed to drag in a train on the ground when Gina wore it, but on her it hit right at the ankle. The long black dress was studded with glittering black beads that caught the light when she moved. From the wrist of the sleeve to the side of the dress were bat wings of sparkling organza. Gina had a headpiece with bat ears that matched, but Angel wasn't that committed, and instead tied her hair up in a black and gold striped silk scarf. It took convincing to bring herself to leave looking that way, feeling foolish all dressed up on the street. But underneath, she felt a little tremble of excitement.

She had to ask for directions twice, hunting for house numbers in the dark with his card clutched in her hand until she wandered further and further into a neighborhood that looked too blue-blooded to have anything to do with a confidence man like Murdoc Niccals.

She came to a stop, her heels clacking against the walkway. That was the address, but it couldn't possibly have been right.

The house was more a mansion than a home, fresh white paint and all. Stately and huge, two stories, all the windows lit and the front doorway bustling with people. Candlelit jack-o'-lanterns lined the steps, trailing down onto the path, glowing orange beacons in the darkness.

She craned her neck up to take the whole thing in, immediately uncomfortable and out of place. Maybe it wasn't the right house. But the gathering of costumed people said otherwise. She hovered, considering if she just wanted to turn right back around while she still could.

The grip on her shoulder nearly made her leap out of her skin.

A man had slunk up behind her, his leather-gloved hand clamping down hard. Her head turned slow, looking back into a red skull mask, the rest of him all cloaked in black.

"An unchaperoned virgin. It's my lucky night."

Her tension eased under the tone of his voice and she cursed herself for getting worked up.

"You know well enough I'm not. Guess you'll have to get some other unsuspecting girl to sacrifice tonight."

"You're so cruel to me, Angie. Can't you run with a joke?"

Murdoc came up in front of her, tipping his mask back to look her up and down. He grabbed her by the hands, lifting her arms up, and grinned wide enough to show off his missing canine.

"A bat!" he laughed. "Are you going to turn into a vampire and suck me dry? I hope so."

She jerked out of his grip, pulling a face.

"As if you'd be so lucky."

She looked him over. He wore a heavy wool black coat that cut down low around his knees, and a set of solid black shirt and pants. The skull looked like papier-mâché, all doused in crimson paint, but it cut a very gruesome look in the darkness.

"And you're… what, the Devil himself?"

"Masque of the Red Death! Or are you not a Poe fan?"

"I'm more surprised that you have the patience to read."

"I skimmed. Red mask, big rich party at a mansion, plague kills everyone. I thought it was fitting."

Angel looked back up at the lavish house, scoffing.

He held his arm out to her and hooked it around her elbow. He was leaning particularly heavily on her as they made their way to the steps.

"How in God's name did you get invited to this?"

"I told you, it was Stuart. His family's got a good name. Gets him access to plenty of things us low-borns just look in at from the outside."

Her brow knitted together.

"Low-borns?"

"I don't see any silver spoon in your mouth. You and me are bottom-of-the-barrel to them. Unless you're a secret heiress. Then I might have to rethink my stance on marriage."

"Where is he, then?"

He shook his head, muttering.

"Lord knows. He's a looker, if you like that kind of moon-faced, blank stare with nothing behind the eyes. He's probably climbing under some young thing's skirt who liked his gap-toothed smile."

"You sound jealous," she chided.

"Why would I be? Probably got to all those young things before him," he laughed.

It was loud inside. Not just from the sea of people in dress all talking and laughing, but there was a band playing jazz. A small outfit—trumpet, drum, and a bass—but enough to make a good amount of noise. It reverberated off the marble floor and carried through the halls.

She had never seen so many people in one place, even on the Black Cat's busiest night.

Orange and black crepe paper streamers hung all over, even from the glimmering teardrop crystal chandelier. And every person was dressed to out-do the other, an impressive mix of clowns, witches, demons, and royalty.

And there was liquor.

She didn't know why she was surprised. If the owners of the house had this kind of money, they surely had a decent stash left from before the ban. Most of the blue-blooded bought up all the liquor they could before the cops started slapping on cuffs, and it all sat safely nestled in their cellars. It was still legal to drink, after all, and none of them publicly got their hands dirty making and selling. But she was surprised to see this much of it slung around so openly above ground.

Angel didn’t even realize she was clinging to Murdoc’s arm until he laid his hand on hers.

“I know you’re eager, but we just got here. Plenty of time to grab onto each other, later.”

She forced herself to ease up. The crowd made her nervous. It was one thing to be up on a stage, away from everyone, separated by an invisible, untouchable wall. But now she was out in open waters, and she was grasping the only thing that floated.

"I'm sure you're not just here for a good time. You seem too excited for a party."

"You know me too well. Maybe we were destined to meet, some force of nature."

She scoffed.

"I don't believe in supernatural horsefeathers like that."

"That mouth of yours, like a sailor," he chuckled, pulling the mask back down over his face. "People with money are easy to fool, like wide-eyed children let loose into the cruel world for the first time. Rough folks like us can take them for a ride without even trying. Usually I use Stuart for this, but having a lovely assistant will draw more eyes."

She shook her head.

"I never agreed to _assist_ you with anything."

But he was already leading her over to the parlor, where people were standing with punch glasses, all tightly packed in together.

"Oh, come on, love. It'll be fun."

"I doubt it."

A flutter of curiosity tickled her as he brought her to a table, motioning for her to sit down on the couch across from him. He pulled a set of tarot cards from his pocket.

"Are you going to give me a reading?" she snorted.

"A very _special_ reading."

He slid his coat and gloves off, rolled up his sleeves, and leaned down over the table. Her eyes flicked to the tattoo of the raven on his forearm, and her mind dragged her backwards to her bedroom and the candlelight and the pentagram tattoo she knew lied right underneath his clothes. And it was torturous knowing what it felt like under his clothes.

"You think you can play along with a little act, love?"

The cards snapped from one of his hands to the other in a skillful bridge.

Her eyes flicked up to him in surprise.

"I'm a professional. I know lots of tricks, sleight of hand. Cards, seances, rope tying," he added in a low, sly tone. "Almost anything you can imagine. I'm a quick learner."

The cards snapped back into the other hand.

"Act surprised," he whispered. “You could even clap, if you don’t think that’s laying it on too thick.”

"You're a charlatan," she hissed.

He laid out the cards in front of her, spreading them in a fan.

"Pull the three that call to you."

She could feel him winking from under the red mask, his eyes cast in shadow. Reluctantly, she drew three that were poking out just slightly more than the rest and set them on the table. He folded the deck back together with a loud _SNAP_ that drew eyes. Slowly, a group of onlookers watched him straighten her cards into a line of three. He spread his arms wide, raising his voice.

"Your past, your present, and your future. Are you ready to peer behind the ethereal veil and divine your destiny?"

 _What a hack_ , she thought to herself.

But the growing crowd seemed to be buying it, leaning in to watch.

He flipped the first card over—Temperance.

"Well, you've led quite a modest life. Quiet, fair, and reserved. You show great restraint, almost to a fault, and tread an even path. Fair judgement in all things, but this… closes you off to new possibilities, new ways of thinking, new experiences. Piety breeds discontent. _Decency_ has its faults."

She would have been laughing if the image of their indecency hadn't flooded her brain the second the word came out of his mouth.

The second—The Lovers.

"Ooh, I see… there's someone in your life, someone special who's caught your eye. Your soulmate, perhaps? You're brimming with the urge to set your true feelings free. And you should. Your lover is waiting _eagerly_ to receive you."

Angel resisted reaching across the table and grabbing him by the ear. He made a big spectacle of tracing his fingers over the last card.

"Your future hangs in the balance, my dear. I can feel a strong spiritual force."

His fingers deftly flipped the card over to reveal The Devil.

A ripple of hushed whispers moved through the onlookers.

"Oh my, that's unlucky. An evil force draws near, something wicked and horrid. Something, perhaps, that may darken your heart and soul, and have you falling into the very grip of Lucifer himself. Temptation, lust… you should tread carefully. There are demons about."

She was looking at one.

Angel was glad she didn't have to stretch her skills as a thespian, as another woman quickly sat down beside her before anyone else could.

"Can you do mine next?"

Angel could feel him grinning from behind the mask.

Hook, line, and sinker.

One after the next demanded readings, until a good portion of the party was gathered around.

He certainly could read people, and not with any supernatural gift. He had another gift—figuring out insecurities in a snap. It was easy for him to manipulate any card into some deep meaning he could bend to fit each person's personality.

Mostly women came and went, hoping for a sign of love or marriage. And Murdoc knew how to stroke that spot especially.

Then he did a lavish show of laying on hands, clapping his palms down on people's wrists or temples, feigning a message from the great beyond. Angel watched and tried not to roll her eyes or laugh.

It took her a few times observing him play at being an oracle before she finally noticed what he was doing. Not every time, but occasionally, a woman would pull away with one less earring, or one less ring. He even managed to slip a broach off, somehow. She clicked her tongue. A charlatan for sure.

Eventually he gathered himself up and threw his coat on and slipped back into his black leather gloves, promising to come back later and do some palm readings, slowly inching his way out of the clamoring crowd of ladies waiting on news of their sweethearts. Angel followed along behind him, leaning in.

“You’re brazen.”

He tipped his mask up to slide his eyes over to her.

"A bunch of rich arses at a Halloween party? Just means a house full of spiritual suckers. They wouldn’t notice if I stole the nose off their face if I told them ‘ _Granny says hello_ ’."

“That cocky attitude is going to put you in a hole, someday.”

But Murdoc wasn’t listening. He was busy slipping two glasses into his claws off a silver tray, and she saw him give the silver tray a long look, too.

He handed one off to her.

“Here, a little reward for being such a willing accomplice.”

She took the delicate flute in her hands. The drink fizzed, little bubbles floating up to the top as she leaned down to smell it. It was almost perfumed, sweet and floral.

"I never had champagne before," she admitted. "Only ever drank well gin with soda, or whiskey."

"Oh, love, I'll have to open you up to the wide world of illicit beverages. There's quite a lot. Once the band makes it, you'll think champagne is boring, you'll get so used to it."

"Big promises," she snorted, tipping the glass to her lips.

The bubbles buzzed on her tongue, the taste unlike anything she'd had at the Black Cat or any other gin joints or shine cellars. It reminded her of Paola's garden, the way it smelled with fresh summer rain on the roses. She couldn't imagine the taste of it ever growing boring, even if she drank it every day.

"They say Cleopatra invented sparkling wine," he said with a smile.

That shit-eating grin of his made the corners of her lips turn up. She was the mark for his charms, now, and she decided to humor him.

"That so?"

"Smashed her pearl earring under her knife at dinner and dropped it into her glass, and the powder made it bubble over. The most expensive cocktail ever made. You'll have some pearls to smash of your own, soon," he said with a laugh.

Angel clenched her drink, thinking about the string of pearls burning in her jewelry box at home. She wished she had the nerve to smash them all to pieces and watch them just dissolve away in a glass.

"It's better in France," she heard him say from behind the mask as he pulled it back down.

"As if you've been."

"You think I popped out of a log cabin in the Heartlands? Have you heard my voice? I've been a handful of times. It's another world," he laughed. "You'd love it and hate it, I think. Just like me, ha-ha."

That stuck in her. She never thought she'd ever leave the state, let alone the country. That was what other people did. Rich people. People with better means and more respectable careers than her, or girls who married lucky. And the fact that he was one of those other people—people who travelled—had somehow never sunk in, beyond poking some fun at him.

"How is it you got here, anyway?" she asked, her eyes on him. "You don't even have the money for a train."

"I rowed."

She could tell he was grinning even though she couldn't see his face from behind the mask. She could hear it in his voice.

"I thought you'd be thrilled to talk about yourself," she said over the rim of the glass.

"You give up too easy," he grumbled. "Same as anyone else, came over by boat, 1912. I sweet-talked my way onto a Star liner. Posed as staff, then slept my way from cabin to cabin. Thought for sure I'd have been in irons by the time I got to the other side, but I must have left behind a string of pleased bunkmates, since I wasn't sent right back home."

She rubbed her temple, shaking her head. That sounded about right. She stopped, looking up.

"Wait…"

"Slipped right over in time to get out of dodge. I was a lucky son of a bitch," he laughed. "Got on the Olympic two weeks before. I nearly pissed myself when I saw that bloody ship went down. Glad I made some deals with the Devil that hadn't come due, yet."

"You're damn lucky," she muttered. "You could be at the bottom of the Atlantic."

"But instead I'm standing here getting to irritate you."

"Less irritating than I expected for tonight."

She could see him puff up. She knew she shouldn't have been encouraging him, but he made her eager for company, for conversation. And Murdoc never seemed to be short on either.

"So," she said, leaning against the wall. "You conned your way here, then what?"

He tipped his mask back, looking up at her. He seemed more than happy to share his escapades to a willing ear.

"Let's see… I was twenty-three—"

The softness of her face disappeared in an instant as her gaze travelled over to the front door, to a new group of guests just arriving.

"Oh God, oh my God," she hissed suddenly, crumpling into herself. "It's Bill, he's here."

It took him a moment to register who _'Bill'_ was, but it wasn't hard to guess from the horrified, drained look on her face. Murdoc glanced back at the room of glad-handers, all talking and greeting and clamoring over each other.

"Which one?"

"The harlequin, by the door."

"You'll have to be more specific than that, love."

"The black and white motley. With the tied-back hair."

He squinted, peering through the mass of masks and pomp to spy him—long black hair tied back with a gruesome looking white mask of a laughing man, the rest of him dappled in black and white diamonds.

"How do you know?'

"I just do, I know it's him."

Murdoc shook his head, glancing at all the faces between him and her.

"He's not gonna notice you."

"He will," she insisted, turned away with her face tucked into her shoulder. "And if he doesn't, one of his friends will."

He looked at her for a long moment from under his mask. He'd never seen her look so worried, so horrified. Not even with him crawling all over her in the dark. Not even when he was a stranger walking her home alone at night.

He reached out and slipped the red mask over her face, tucking the tie behind her ears.

"Now you're just another beast," he said, flicking the gap nose of the skull.

He jerked his head toward the staircase that led up to the second floor.

"Go on, I'll trail you up and keep an eye out," he said, closing his good eye and laughing at his own joke. "We'll wait till he settles in someplace and slip out, if you'd like."

"That's suspiciously good of you," she mumbled.

"Oh, you know I've been dying to get you alone, anyhow. Perfect chance. Didn't even have to make something up."

"What's upstairs?" he heard from under the mask.

"No idea, probably something boring like a double-size spring mattress bed with Egyptian silk sheets. Or a claw-foot porcelain bathtub big enough for two. Or maybe just a dark linen closet. Who knows?"

Him making jokes soothed her nerves just a little, and though his teasing should have irritated her, she clung to it. Anything to distract herself from the man lit like a beacon at the front door.

"Could you even contort yourself into a bathtub with another person with that leg?"

"If it's up there I'll show you," he said in a low voice, hanging back as she made her way up.

He gave a lingering look at Bill from the mid-step, his eyes hard and narrowed.

There were fewer people upstairs, mostly stray couples cuddling up close together against the walls, whispering and smiling. Angel glanced behind her, watching Murdoc finally limp up the last step.

“Busy up here,” he said, looking around. “Wonder if any of them had the nerve to dive in yet.”

He cracked open a door, peering inside.

“Lucky us.”

Angel came up behind him, looking in as he slipped away.

"That's their bedroom," she whispered urgently.

"Well it's their fault for making it the only way to get to the terrace. If they catch us, I'll let them know that. Unless Bill breaks the door down, I think you'll be just fine in here."

She glanced behind at the paired-off lovers who couldn't have cared less to notice her if she fell over in a fit on the floor.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Murdoc was lighting himself a cigarette on the balcony, jamming it up in the gap of his smile. She hesitantly slunk up beside him, looking down over the backyard, just as overflowing with people on the lawn as inside. But none of them cared to look up. She eased, leaning on the railing. She scanned every costume, every face, but Bill wasn't among any of them that she could see.

"You said you were twenty-three?"

Murdoc stared at her for a second before it snapped.

"Oh, you want to hear about my conquests of the Americas! Angie, didn't think you were the type to be swayed with tall tales."

"I'm guessing they're less heroic, more evil, seeing that you're cruising the place for loose silver and gold and slipping jewelry off blue-blooded ladies. If you get caught, I don't know you."

"Fair," he snorted.

"That the whole reason you came? To knick some silverware?"

"There's free food and drinks, too."

"What did you need me for, then?"

"Cover. A man alone draws eyes, and I knew I couldn't count on Stu to stick close," he said, leaning back on his elbows beside her, a long thread of silver smoke billowing from the end of the cigarette. "And I thought maybe I'd be able to get you alone. And I did, and all you want to do is chat."

"Like you hate talking about yourself."

He looked over at her, trying to fight the self-satisfied smile on his face.

"Of the two things you could be stroking, I wish it wasn't my ego. But it'll do. I've got plenty of time left tonight for the other." He stretched, groaning. His crooked spine snapped loud. "Let's see… twenty-three… Right, I got off the boat and made a beeline along the coast, down to New Orleans. Made a few pocketfuls of cash from playing the cello here and there, and some, er… under-the-table work."

"Stealing?"

"Gambling."

"Ha!" She burst out. "With your sorry skills?"

"Hey, we were tied in our little game, so you're ragging on yourself, too." He cleared his throat. "Just kept going south. Ran some liquor across the border, got into loads of trouble, got thrown in jail. Wasn't lying about that one. You'd have thought a year of hard labor would have broken me. Well, it broke part of me," he muttered, shaking his foot.

She eyed his bad leg.

"Got in a fight?"

"Not with another prisoner," he muttered, turning away. "Didn't like the way a guard was picking on this bloke. Guess he preferred picking on me after I opened my mouth."

Angel watched him, his eyes far away, as if he were someplace else.

"How'd you get out?"

He eyed her.

"Served my time."

"I don't believe that for a second."

He laughed.

"I busted out with ten other men in the dead of night. Nearly died out in the desert, but the Devil won't let me go, haha."

"That sounds more like you."

"I floated around a good while after that, made my way up to Chicago, then down to St. Louis. That's where I met the Moon Child. I heard this sound when I was going down the street. Best piano I'd ever heard. Croning voice. I had to know, so I climbed up the terrace."

"You broke into his house like a boy sneaking into a girl's room," she laughed.

"Cut my hands open on the roses and everything. Ah, it was midday, though, so not so romantic. More extremely frightening for him. I was throwing around the idea of picking up a band with some folks, but no one took it seriously enough. I needed a commitment. And the minute I heard him I knew I had to grab him up before someone else did. But, ah… his parents did like the idea of their well-bred boy traipsing around with a degenerate. So I stole him away. I told you my charms work."

"You're horrid," she said, shaking her head, hiding a grin.

"Never said otherwise. Well, I've been looking around since then. Can't just be me and Stuart. Need some others. Like you."

"I'm flattered. Are you going to steal me in the middle of night next?"

"Working on it."

She leaned her chin in her hand, the mask pushed up on top of her head so she could really look at him.

"So, you were twenty-three in 1912…" she drifted off. "Oh dear, thirty-eight. You're getting old."

He pulled a face, snorting out a burst of smoke through his broken nose.

"I'm well-aged. You're no spring chicken yourself, love. Twenty-seven." He hissed. "Almost in the grave."

"Makes you a skeleton."

"As if you like young men."

"As if I like men at all."

He watched the faces below, parsing them for any familiar ones, keeping a wary eye out for Stuart. And Bill.

"Normally when I trot out my sins, people tend to shy away, make a nervous joke or a laugh, or clam up. But you don't seem to be phased much at all. I wonder why that could be?"

Angel glanced over at him.

"Maybe I think you're making it all up."

He blew out the last of his cigarette in her face, stamping it out on the balcony railing.

"When people think I'm blowing smoke up their arse, they call me on it right off the bat."

He flicked the butt down into the crowd and it plopped straight into a woman's glass.

"I think it's because you're used to men like me."

She looked down at the people, her face somber.

"I'm used to men _worse_ than you. Men that wouldn't curse themselves with a bum leg for someone else's sake."

"Ah, to be fair I didn't know my leg was going to get irreversibly fucked."

"You still did it."

"If time went backwards," he sighed.

A long moment of silence passed, the muffled sounds of jazz and conversation and laughter all blending into a hum underneath them.

"You may be right, as much as I hate to admit it." She finally said. "I play it straight now, but I haven't always. You're somewhere between vaguely good and horrendously evil. I didn't know anyone could float that line long enough before just being one or the other."

She looked up at him.

"It doesn't matter what I think of you. You're still who you were and you'll still be who you are. You could be completely horrible two minutes from now, but I just know I don't… completely hate your company right this second."

He gave her a long look that she couldn't identify.

"You're willing to put aside my sins for a bit of shared time?" He reached over, pinching her cheeks with his gloved hands. "You're such a sweet girl, selfless and violent. Just like Joan of Arc."

"She died," she muttered, swatting him away.

"Won't we all."

He breezed past her, looking around the dark bedroom.

"If you're going to shake the place upside down, can you at least do it when I'm not looking directly at you?"

"I already did," he said, pulling out a pendant on a long silver chain from his pocket. "Nabbed it from the dresser on my way in."

She hadn't even noticed. He was quick.

"I'm going to pretend I never saw that," she groaned, stepping back inside.

"You're a good one, _bomboncita_ ," he snickered, slipping it back into the depth of his pocket that she was sure would be full by the time he left. "Maybe I can turn you into a cat burglar like me."

He rummaged through the jewelry boxes on the vanity, examining each piece, considering for a second before nabbing it or putting it back. He was a professional grifter—he wasn't going to weigh himself down with extras.

"Ooh, Angie, look at this," he said with a smirk. "Wouldn't this just look perfect against your beautiful bronze skin?"

She turned, Murdoc an inch away from her, a long chain of jade green glass beads hanging from his fingers with a tassel of golden topaz clamped at the end. It hung low, nearly to her navel, as he sized it up against her.

"Wouldn't that be a pretty sight," he said with a smirk.

She flushed, pushing his fingers away gently.

"More empty flattery," she muttered.

"Just exploring my imagination, love," he said, eyes traveling downward.

Her gaze flicked away.

"You'd better hurry that up, or someone is going to catch you with your hand wrist-deep in the candy jar."

The necklace coiled like a snake in his hand as he collected it in his palm and slipped it into the inside pocket of his coat.

"Right you are. I've been using my light fingers on the wrong treasure."

He leaned in, dragging the tip of his fingers lightly along the outside of her thigh, his red eye burning in the dark. She froze.

"Pressing your luck, again?"

"I'd like to be pressing something else," he chuckled. "Come now, how about just a kiss? That's chaste. All this tip-toeing around and you’ve never actually put those frowning lips on me."

Every one of Angel's muscles tensed as her eyes flicked over his face in the dim light, her heart banging so loud in her chest she swore there was no way he couldn't hear it.

"One?" she croaked.

"Just one," he said in a grinning whisper, leaning into her.

Her hand came down over his good eye, turning the world into a dark, hazy blur.

"Augh, careful, love. You're makin' me seasick," he chuckled.

A ghost of warm breath tickled him. He twitched at the gentle touch of her lips against his as she gave him a soft, unsure kiss. He grinned against her as she pulled away, her hand still clapped over his eye.

"Why the secrecy?" he laughed, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. "Not like there's many others to give me a sweet kiss like that in here."

The truth was, she didn't want him to see the embarrassment on her face, the rush of red heat that she could feel burning her ears.

"Just didn't want you looking at me with that self-satisfied look you always have painted on your face," she said quietly.

He pulled her hand away and his expression that made her shiver. The soft leather around his fingers brushed her face as he reached up and pulled her silk scarf loose, slipping it from her hair that fell around her chin. He pulled it over his eyes, tying it behind his head.

"There," he said, smiling. "Can't see a damn thing. You can do whatever you'd like."

She stared at him, her shaking hands reaching out on their own.

Her fingers traced down the edges of his jaw, slow, feeling the stubble on his face under her fingertips. It prickled, sending shivers through her. She could feel the muscles of his jaws moving as he smiled. 

She was shaking. She was just giving him the satisfaction of seeing her going weak from his flagrant attempts to charm his way into her, but she couldn't find the good reasoning make herself stop. She didn't want to.

A thousand mocking, cruel jokes bit at his tongue, eager to come out. Words that had sharp points to jam into the gaps of her stoic armor. How gentle she was being, when she'd looked like a beast in heat days ago. It was comically virginal, a stark contrast to the urgent and rushed pushing and pulling he was well used to from his usual conquests. It was a change he didn't hate, and he didn't want to say anything that might have made her stop.

Her fingers slid under his coat and she shrugged it from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a pool, pockets laden with his spoils. A strange laugh rumbled in his throat.

"You're so chaste, Angie," he said. He couldn't help himself. "You sure you've been with a man before, or were you just trying to impress me?"

Her voice was quiet and… sad.

"I have."

"Then why's it you act like you've never touched a man's body? Not that I'm opposed."

"Never touched your body before."

He shivered when her fingers returned to his face.

"Ah, technically not correct."

"Not like this," she said, her fingers sliding under his jaw.

He grunted, lifting his chin to let her drag her nails over his throat.

"No, not like this," he said in a low voice.

Every move she made against him was heightened behind the blindfold and he craned his neck. He wanted her to touch every inch of him. She traced the edges of his collar, then slid up the back of his neck to run her fingers through his hair. It took herculean effort not to reach out and grab her. As amusing as he found it, it was also driving him mad, having her so close, being so gentle.

"D'you like playing with me, love?" he chuckled in the dark.

Her thumbs stroked the ridge of his cheeks, and he felt her draw in close, the heat of her, the electricity of her skin. His lips parted as her breath pooled on him and a small sound escaped him. An almost-kiss, her upper lip just brushing against his lower, tantalizing, teasing. He tried to lean into her as she pulled back.

"I've never… touched anyone like this,"she said quietly.

"Haven't been touched like this, myself," he admitted with a shaky chuckle, restraining himself.

Her hands left him, unsure if she should have been doing this at all, and he reached out blindly, grasping her wrists.

"Don't—don't stop."

Angel stopped, staring at him. she'd never heard him sound so… suppliant. Almost pleading. He fumbled for the bottom of his shirt, tugging it and the one underneath out of his pants in a rush.

"Fucking… too many goddamn…" he muttered, and Angel bit her lip to keep from laughing.

She let him guide her hands under his clothes, her palms running up his warm chest, hair tickling her fingers. A hot flush ran through her, though she didn't remove her hands after he let go. Her nails dragged down along each rib, drawing out a long, satisfied groan from him.

"Mmm… that's nice, love," he mumbled.

Her heart leapt, and her brain emptied of all good sense. She just wanted to hear him make that sound again.

Her fingers slid to his back, moving over each ridge of his spine until her hands came to rest on his hips. He sighed against her ear, blowing a hot puff of air against her neck. His hands pressed on the small of her back, pulling her to him. Every stroke of her fingers was snaring him in an inescapable trap. He nosed her face to his, lips just barely brushing, and groaned against her mouth, but she tilted her head so she was just out of reach. She was toying around with him. He could feel her little grin against his lips.

"What a cocktease, you are. You've got me wound so tight, I could take you right here. Instead you’ve got me playing blind-man’s-bluff just to get your lips on me."

“You said one kiss.”

“Is that all you want, one kiss? Or maybe you want something that you’re too straight-laced to ask for.” His lips dragged over the corner of her mouth as he spoke. “It’s a party. Where’s your sense of fun?”

Suddenly Angel's hands left him, his skin growing cold without her, and he stepped forward. Had he pushed his luck too far?

"Angie?"

He could hear her heels clicking soft against the floor. A sly smile slowly cracked across his face.

"Oh, I see. You really are playing with me, now, aren't you? I didn’t _actually_ mean I wanted to play a game. You’re so literal."

He reached out, taking a few cautious steps in each direction, then spun quick as he felt her tap his shoulder and lunged out, grabbing at air. She muffled a little laugh behind her hand.

"D'you know what I'm gonna do when I catch you?"

He followed the sound of her heels until they stopped, and he nearly tripped over the shoes, kicked off onto the floor. She tiptoed quietly in her stockings, circling him, keeping her mouth shut tight.

"I'm not going to let you go," he snickered.

Another quick poke in his side made him snatch for her.

“You said it’s a party,” she called out, side-stepping his grasping hands.

“Slippery. The more you tease me, the worse you’re making it for yourself. I’m competitive by nature. And I tend to gloat when I win.”

He could feel her, somewhere close, laughing at him. The edge of her sleeve brushed his arm, and she ran her finger along his shoulder, lingering before he snapped around, just missing.

“You going to make me chase you all around the room? What did I do to deserve this? Fine, I’ll make you come to me, then.”

Angel’s face reddened as he reached up for the button of his collar, undoing one, then the next, until she could see his undershirt. It brought her to a stop, torn between demanding he stop, and staying silent.

“Nothing to say? Are you going to let me strip down till I’m naked?”

He listened in the darkness. He could hear her breathing. One more button as he paced closer.

“If I can’t win a game, I’ll just cheat. You should know that by now.”

He could feel the heat of her, knew the look on her face, even blinded.

Her hands fell down on his wrists, pulling them away from the last button.

“There you are.”

Murdoc grabbed her arms and tugged her close until she was right up against him, his hands firmly planted on her back to keep her from wriggling away. But she didn’t struggle.

“Come on, I won’t tell anyone. It's just you and me,” he hummed against her neck. “We're friends, you and I. Let me be friendly."

He forced her backwards, taking long steps until he felt her press up against the wall. Still, she didn’t struggle. If she wasn’t stopping him now, he knew she wasn’t going to.

" _Are_ we friends?" she asked, managing a little laugh as he kissed the edges of her restrained smile.

"Friend, nuisance, business partner, enemy, rat bastard, call me whatever you'd like. As long as you let me be indecent with you. I've robbed everyone else here blind, let me give you something. A priceless treasure, just for you."

"I didn't give in to you before, what makes you think I will, now?"

Her voice was thin, and lacked the edge of defiance that so often laced her words to him.

"You’re not giving into anything. I’m not making you. You have a choice, just like you had the choice to come to the party, to come in here with me. And you’re making the choice to stay in my arms, now. You’re no fly in a spider’s web. Push me away, if that’s what you want. But you’re not. So, what is it really, then? Are you worried what someone will think?"

"No," she said quietly as he dragged his gloved fingers up her jaw.

"Do you think I'm going to hurt you?"

"No."

"Are you afraid?"

"Yes," she admitted, her put-on confidence waning.

She could smell the leather as it ran over her lower lip.

"Afraid of what?"

"... That this is an invitation to let you in. I can't… I can't do that again."

He sighed against her.

"You're not giving me that bleeding heart of yours, love. I told you I don't want to be tied down. I'm not some summer romance boy that'll break your heart. You're just… sharing a moment with me. Two strangers, making each other happy just for a little bit. Does that sound so bad to you?"

"... No."

He ran his hand up the back of her neck.

"Maybe I'm being too gentle. Maybe you need something less… sentimental?" He could feel her knees clench together. "Something deplorable to make you remember who it is you're dealing with. A devil, remember? Would you like that?"

"A devil," she chided, her breaths coming in quick. "An imp, more like. Not evil at all. Just irritating."

His raspy, whispering voice was hot against her skin.

“Do you want me to be evil?”

He felt her twist in his grip, and that was all the confirmation he needed.

Murdoc turned her around, throwing his weight against her to push her face-first against the wall. The air wicked from her lungs and before she could move, he was pressed up against her back. He nudged her legs apart with his boot, grunting as his pelvis ground against her rear.

"My turn to play with you, now," he purred into her ear. “If there’s one person in the world you don’t have to keep up this perfect-daughter routine around, it’s me. Let me be horrible to you. I’ll be the villain if you want me to be.”

She wriggled under him as he brushed the hair from the back of her neck and a gasp hitched hard in her throat, his wet, hot tongue dragged over her skin.

“Augh,” she groaned, unable to tell if she was disgusted or aroused.

He gathered up her dress in his hands, pulling it further and further along her leg until he could reach under, his other hand running over her stockings and up the inside of her thigh. A yelp nearly burst out of her and he pressed her closer to the wall, his hand coming down over her mouth. Not hard, but enough to flood her with adrenaline, her breath loud against the leather.

"Shhh, not too loud, love. Unless you want company."

He let go and her face was left flushed and hot, and she was glad he hadn't pulled off his blindfold.

He pressed his finger against her lips.

“Take this,” he said, and she hesitantly bit down, letting him pull his hand from the glove.

His bare fingers slid between her thighs, palm pressing hard into her. Her back arched, her fists closing up tight, and the glove fell from her teeth. Her ran his fingers over her, dragging across the crooks of her thighs, and his middle finger pressed hard along the slit of her.

"Everyone outside sounds like they're having a great time," he breathed into her neck. "Who'd think you were having a better time in here."

"This is… wrong," she breathed.

"Why? Does it feel wrong?"

His fingers spread, his middle finger dipping between her through her underwear, and she fought to dampen a moan.

"There's… people around…"

He laughed against her.

"You're right. It is wrong. It's desperate, it's rude, it's disgusting. But the way you're spreading your legs to let my fingers in tells me all I need to know about how you feel."

He rocked against her, one hand firmly on her hip, the other palming her, fingers circling hard against her as he pulled her into him with motion of his thrusts. She felt him turn his face to the terrace.

"Listen to all of them. Would you want me to take you out on the balcony and let them all see you looking like a mess? Unless you told me to, I wouldn't stop. It feels too good to stop because of prying eyes. I'd let them watch me unravel you. They could see how beautiful you'd look when I move in you. They could watch me fuck you."

Every word he said was horrid and wrong, but her hips arched into him to feel his cock against her and his fingers slip against her underwear, growing damp from his touch.

"That's… sick…"

"Then tell me stop, if you think I'm so distasteful."

Angel's jaw clenched tight.

“I thought so.”

He dragged his hand up to the band of her briefs and slipped underneath. The warmth of his skin was unbearable. Her hands shot up to the wall, nails digging into the wallpaper to keep herself steady. With a long groan, his finger slid into her, driving Angel up to the tips of her toes, her mouth falling open.

“Has anyone ever touched you like this, pet?” he panted.

“No,” she gasped, too rattled to even try to lie.

That made him laugh against her.

“I’m the first. What an honor. Bill must have had no imagination.”

He pulled his finger all the way out, rubbing the slick tip against her clit before pushing back in, crooking it inside her until she was muffling her moans into her shoulder.

“What if old Billy came in here, right now? How would he feel seeing his girl looking so indecent with a snake between her thighs?"

"Not his girl," she hissed in a voice she tried to control.

"That's right, you're not. Whose girl are you?"

"N-no one's."

"That's right," he purred. “Augh, I know you must look so fucking gorgeous with those sounds you're making. Let me see you. Take this thing off me.”

“No,” she said firmly.

He shuddered.

“Ooh, you’re so cruel to me.”

Without warning, he bit down on the tender curve of her neck with his sharp teeth, shoving his finger deep into her. Angel’s eyes shut tight, a keen whine slipping out as his tongue ran over the sore spot he left behind.

“I can be cruel, too.”

“Christ,” she moaned, her forehead pressed into the wall.

“Wrong,” he chuckled. “Just me. God and all his angels can’t help you, now. Not even Satan.”

He slipped another finger into her and pumped hard, grinding against her in time with each thrust, moaning such an obscene, vulgar moan into her neck that she could barely stand it. She felt every heavy breath from him on her skin. Her hips rocked against him, rubbing up against his wrist, and he gripped onto her hip so hard she thought his nails would pierce right through the glove.

“You feel so good,” he slurred, barely able to speak between labored gasps. “D’you want the real thing? I’ll spread you right here, right now. You just have to ask. I’ll do anything for you, anything you want. Anything,” he pleaded.

Her mind clouded with unbearable lust and longing and she wanted nothing more that moment than to feel him move in her. She fought her agreement down her throat, clenching her jaw shut to keep the words from coming up, but she could feel them like fire on her tongue. Her mouth opened.

Then she stopped stiff, her ears perked. Angel wriggled under him, shoving him off her back.

"Someone's coming," she hissed, her eyes wide.


End file.
